


Just the best for you

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Minor Fingolfin/Anairë, Minor Fëanor/Nerdanel, Silmarils, Slightly Underage Sex, Traditions, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It is time for Fëanáro, as the son of the King of the Noldor, to begin to take seriously some traditions of his people.But, as always, Míriel's son will make a decision that will surprise everyone and arouse mixed emotions - especially in one elf.
Relationships: Aredhel/Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Curufin | Curufinwë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë
Comments: 64
Kudos: 196
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> quendil: from quenya quendë (people, person) and -ndil, lover, friend.
> 
> heru: from quenya lord. 
> 
> * The tradition of the oath between heru and quendil in this story is loosely inspired by the relationship between erastes and eromenos from Ancient Greece.

“You told me I could choose whoever I wanted.”

The king gaped at his son, unable to make any sound for a few minutes. As usual, Fëanáro wore work clothes, more suitable for the forging of his father-in-law than for the private cabinet of the High King of the Noldor. For a brief moment, Finwë watched him sit on the rich gold brocade sofa and thought that Indis would freak out if she saw those boots near her upholstery. With an effort, he concentrated on the subject at hand.

“Of course you can choose who you want: you are the crown prince and nobody will question your authority to choose who you want as a _quendil_ , but, Fëanáro ...” He stopped again to choose the correct words. “This is unprecedented. It is -The Valar will not agreed with all certainty.”

"The Valar have nothing to do with this." The prince shrugged. “You said that I was of an age to choose a _quendil_ and also that whoever I chose would be honored to be my partner, following the ancient traditions of our people. I don't see why he wouldn't be honored then. He can't deny, can he?” He looked at his father, inquisitive and when he denied with a sigh, added: “Unless you are the one who has something to object to.”

“Of course I have to object!” The Noldorin king finally exploded, convinced that his eldest son gave him an opportunity to negotiate. “Apart from the fact that Nolofinwë has not yet reached the age of majority, there is the matter, which apparently you have not considered, that he is your brother.”

Fëanáro was unmoved by his father's desperate expression.

Two days had passed since his father told him that after the birth of his fifth child, it was time for him to begin to assume his role in the traditions and customs of the Court. He could not continue to dedicate himself solely to the work in the forge, his investigations and his family. Knowing the character of his firstborn, Finwë believed it a good idea that the way to start in the Noldorin traditions was with the choice of his _quendil_.

The tradition of choosing a male partner went back to the awakening in Cuiviénen, when the Eldar explored the surroundings in starlight and as the females remained in the settlements, bonds as valuable as same-sex marriage were created. It was also a bond of loyalty and belonging, in which one of the two guided and the other followed, for life. In his youth, Finwë himself had chosen Olwë as a _quendil_ , who had to choose between his brother and his _heru_. Only with the approval of Finwë could Olwë remain with the Teleri, since if his _heru_ called him, the _quendil_ must follow him to the end of the world if necessary. However, Fëanáro could never make things easy. Finwë had thought that with his usual overbearing character, his son would be drawn to one of the gentle, quiet-looking young nobles who abounded at court. He also thought that some Telerin nobleman inclined him in his favor, since the prince used to travel to Alqualondë often. But no, behold, the unthinkable: he requested his own brother, who by the way was a minor and had everything except the appearance of a docile and obedient young elf.

"You are agreeing with me with every word, _atarinya_ ," replied the young elf with that irresistible smile. “What better companion for the prince of our people than another Noldorin prince? Will you deny me that even if I searched for a whole year, I would hardly find a more beautiful creature than your second child? Even among the Maiar. As for his coming of age ...” He made a dismissive gesture. “I will wait for the celebration. We can link both ceremonies, don't you think?”

“Your mother will not like that arrangement at all.”

Fëanáro's perfect face darkened and with a smooth voice, he pointed out:

“I think it will be a little difficult for you to consult her about it being she in the Halls of Mandos.”

"Indis," replied the king, naming his second wife. “You know I mean Indis. She won’t be happy about you choosing Nolvo as your _quendil_.”

“She has nothing to say about it. This is a males’ thing. You are the one who should have an opinion.” He rose to his feet with a fluid movement and approached his father. “And you won't deny me that I have made the best possible choice, will you, father? I promise you that you will be proud of your two children. And Nolofinwë and I will be more united than ever, as you have always wanted.”

“But what I wanted was that ...”

The pout that twitched his son's mouth interrupted the king's words and when Fëanáro saw his father's expression, he knew that the objections were over.

\---------------------------------------------

“Then he accepted. You're telling me that your father really accepted.”

Fëanáro turned slightly towards his wife while drying his hair. His naked and muscular torso was a true work of art, in which the skin - tanned by the long hours in the forge - sparkled sensually with each movement and the effect of the cascade of black hair up to his back only accentuated the exquisiteness of his physique. For a second, Nerdanel watched him absorbed and he enjoyed his admiration without making any gesture.

"Yes, he accepted," he finally said, forcing her out of her abstraction.

"Well, now that you've proven your point, you can now end this," she sighed, standing up from where she was sitting.

“What do you mean?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“That. You've already shown that your father doesn't deny you anything, even his son, so now you can start looking seriously for a candidate to be your _quendil_.”

“But it is serious”, he replied. “I'm going to take the half-vanyarin as my _quendil_.”

Nerdanel whirled around in front of her husband. After so much time sharing his life and his work, being his lover and his comrade, and five children ... Fëanáro still puzzled her.

“Fëanáro, you can't”, she just said, swallowing dry.

He dropped his hand, still rubbing his hair, and lightning flashed across his gaze.

“Of course I can. My father has agreed.”

He is your brother!”

“He is not my brother!” He exploded and despite knowing that she had provoked him with her statement, and that she was right, Nerdanel took a step back. "He is not my brother," repeated the crown prince, controlling his explosive character for a moment. “That vanyarin bastard is not my brother -he is not of my blood. There is no harm in ...”

“When was the last time you saw him?” His wife interrupted him.

Fëanáro frowned, not understanding the question.

“Four -five days ago, I think.”

“No, Fëanáro, I did not ask you when was the last time you passed him without turning your head or when you almost passed over him as if he did not exist. I mean the last time you really _looked_ at him.”

“I don't see where you want to go, _meldanya_.”

“To the point that, if you had ever stopped to look at Nolofinwë, by now you would know that you can deny many things, but not that he is your father's son. Unlike his brothers, Nolvo hardly shows any Vanyarin traits. Believe me: no one will doubt that the same blood runs through your veins.”

“Silly stuff.” He shrugged and released the cloth with which to dry to grab a robe from a hook on the wall.

“Please, husband, reflect before continuing with this.” With an effort, she armed herself with patience and continued: “There are many handsome _neri_ with enough qualities to satisfy your tastes. Leaving aside Laurefindë, for I know you will not accept anything that reminds you of Vanyarin beauty, many Noldor among the noblest and most elevated have children already in their majority of age whose beauty is recognized.”

“I don't want any of those _high and noble handsome Noldor_.” He half-smiled. “In fact, I have no interest in bearing the responsibility of being the _heru_ of a _quendil_ , but my father expects me to accommodate to the traditions of our people and then I will do it my way. Why all the fuss, _Nerdanelinya_? It is common for the _quendil_ to be the closest-th-heart friend of the one who chooses him: who’d be closer to my heart than a son of my father?” He finished with a malicious smile.

Nerdanel shook her head, crowned with reddish brown hair - less shiny than her eldest son's; but equally beautiful and unique.

"I can't reason with your when you convince yourself to be right," she sighed. “I mean, never.”

“Don't be hard on me, vanimalda.” Fëanáro narrowed his eyes as he approached her with sensual movements that made the robe open around his sculptural anatomy.

Nerdanel's gray eyes followed each ripple of the muscles, feeling her mouth go dry with anticipation. He barely managed to hide the triumphant smile when he reached her side and leaned down to kiss her with sinuous movements of the tongue in her mouth.

“Also, everything is already arranged: in his majority, Nolofinwë will become my _quendil_. The king agrees.”

“And the queen?” she ventured, breathing hard.

“She has little to say about it. In fact, why do we keep talking about this? Why do we keep talking?”

“Because I love you and I don't want you to make a mistake.”

“Never, _Nerdanelinya_.”

"Please, Fëanáro," she asked still, resting her hands on his chest to hold him back a moment longer. “Before going any further with this, go to Nolofinwë. Go to your brother.”

He rolled his eyes impatiently.

“It's okay. I'll try. Now…”

Nerdanel let out a cry of excitement as she felt his fingers caressing the insides of her thighs: at this rate, they would be announcing the sixth child before her husband to take _quendil_.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite what Fëanáro said, Queen Indis had a lot to say about it. Finwë closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. For the first time in his long life, his head ached. Indis was a beautiful creature; but she had the genius of the raging sea: no wonder she and Fëanáro could not stay in the same room for more than two minutes without attacking each other like hungry beasts.

“ _Attar_?”

The king turned on the spot to face half his problems. Yes, there was no doubt that Nolofinwë was his son –even more than Curufinwë.

The second son of the Noldorin king had scarcely inherited from his Vanyarin family the soft bluish tint of his eyes –with the unusual peculiarity that during Laurelin's flowering hours, Nolvo's eyes were totally blue like his mother's, and during the hours that Telperion's light dominated, they were as gray as those of his Noldorin family. Near his coming of age, Nolofinwë had grown in stature to his father and older brother. His limbs were not yet fully mature to an adult elf, but they promised to be stronger than those of Curufinwë and his face had a beauty that was beyond his age.

His manner, too, was more rested and confident than would be expected of a young _ner_. Finwë knew well that more than one adult elf was around his second, fascinated by his presence and his ways.

He was also aware that the boy had set his eyes on the daughter of one of his advisers. Anairë. The young woman had already come of age a few weeks ago and was of acceptable beauty, though not compelling. Next to her, Nolofinwë would flash like the stars of Varda. Well, it was also evident that his second son had the benevolence of the queen of Valier and the boy showed equal deference by always wearing embroidered stars on his clothes.

“Everything okay, _attar_?” Nolofinwë inquired in his usual calm tone, while those wonderful eyes, right now as blue as his own robe, were interested in his father's features. “You seem tired. And _Amil_ sounded quite upset. Has something happened to any of my sisters? Is Ingoldo okay?”

“Yes, your siblings are fine. Everyone is fine. It's -Your mother and I had a disagreement, nothing more.”

Nolofinwë narrowed his eyes and Finwë almost became sad when he stopped looking at them.

“For my cause?” The young asked again. “Because of my brother Curufinwë?”

“Why are you so perceptive, _onya_?” The king tried to smile.

“I am not perceptive, I only have good ears.” The prince smiled openly. “And I heard my name and that of our older brother. What's going on, _atarinya_? Have I done something that upset my brother?”

Despite his calm tone, Finwë was aware that his son contained his true emotions. Relations between Curufinwë and his brothers were not the best -in fact, they were the worst imaginable. While Fëanáro always faced Indis, he ignored his half-siblings whenever possible. During his childhood, Nolofinwë had tried by all means to get closer to his older brother. With two sisters for company, the elfling desperately needed his brother, but all his attempts at rapprochement were harshly rejected by Curufinwë. As he grew and matured, Nolofinwë stopped chasing his brother and trying to imitate him. The second male child lacked his brother's manual skills and eagerness to learn. Instead, he had proven himself to be a very capable counselor at his young age and more than once, Finwë had sought his support in difficult situations. Nolofinwë had the talent to lead others to the path he wanted and his father was almost frightened at the real possibility that his son would refuse Fëanáro's demand.

“Your brother has ...” he started to say, but he stopped without knowing how to continue. “You spend a lot of time with your friends ... hunting and swimming in the ponds. Have you ...? I guess you've shared a lot with them.”

“You know I spend a lot of time with my nephews, _attar_. Russo, Cáno, and Moryo are my best friends. Why are you interested in that now?” He nodded, reminding Finwë of his other son. “Are you thinking again about apprenticing me in Mahtan's forge?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

The king almost burst out laughing at the memory of one of his **great** ideas for his children getting closer. Before the second day, Curufinwë had exploded at his half-brother's inability to learn the rudiments of metallurgy, and Nolofinwë - in an attempt not to lose his temper to his brother and retain "some" balance between them - left the forge without saying a word and for more than two days he was locked in the library. When he came out, he just put a ring and bracelet set in front of his father.

‘For Curufinwë,’ he had said. ‘I don't want him to think that I didn't pay attention to him.’

Better not even remember how the present felt for Fëanáro.

"Nothing is further from my wishes than to try new learning," the king smiled after a few moments. “I'm only interested in you. I know you like Súrion's daughter, but I also know that many handsome _neri_ have shown an interest in you. Has any -has anyone awakened your attraction?”

“A male, you mean, _atto._ Not to the point of ... reaching intimacy, if that is what worries you," he replied calmly.

Finwë thought that he would like to be as serene as his son.

“No! I am not at all concerned if you have been intimate with another male. In fact, it would be normal. Myself…”

“Attar, I don't need to know the details of your private life.”

“Of course not. That's not -You know that your brother has decided to take a _quendil_ , a male companion, following our ancient traditions.”

“I heard it.” He agreed. “Are you worried about the possibility that my brother will choose someone who ... is close to me?”

“Eh ... no, not exactly. Actually, Fëanáro has already chosen his partner.”

“Oh. And, when will the ceremony be?”

“The day of your coming of age.”

Nolofinwë looked up for the first time to focus on his father's face. The hour of the light mixing was approaching and the blue tone of the young elf's eyes began to lighten until during Telperion it was completely gray.

“Is that the reason for _Mamil's_ displeasure?” He asked cautiously.

“Partly. The truth is that ... Fëanáro -Curufinwë chose you as his _quendil_.”

Finwë observed the serene features of his second son. No emotion left his face still somewhat childish and had it not been for the slight throbbing of a vein in his temple, Finwë would have sworn he had not listened. For a time, silence reigned between the two –so long that the king could see the color change in Nolofinwë's eyes.

“Nolvo...”

“Is that allowed?” finally asked his interlocutor. “Will the Valar not be against his choice?”

“They don't have to. The prohibition against marriage between close relatives is due to the problem of conception. In this case, that is not a risk.” He realized that he was rambling and taking a step towards the boy, she put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you fine with that? I will not force you…”

“If there is no difficulty, I will be honored to be my Brother Curufinwë Fëanáro's _quendil_ , _aranya_.” He said with a graceful bow. “If you allow me to, attar, I have an appointment when the lights are mixed. I have stayed with my cousins to spend time together.”

Finwë nodded and watched him walk away, nimble as a fawn and graceful as a maia. Fëanáro was right, the very idiot: Nolofinwë was the best possible choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aranya: my king (quenya)
> 
> atarinya: my father (quenya)
> 
> Attar: father (quenya)
> 
> neri: males; s. ner.
> 
> onya: my son (quenya)
> 
> atto: dad (quenya)
> 
> amil: mother (quenya); mamil: mom (quenya)


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, he did it just to piss everyone off. Especially his mother. Nolofinwë knew his half-brother well. Too well, to his disgrace.

More ignorant, he probably would have had the illusion that Curufinwë really had some romantic or sensual interest in him and was taking advantage of the situation to satisfy his desires, but it was difficult to have such hopes when they spoke of an elf who had never given him more than a look of contempt if they crossed the corridor.

Of course, he was furious. He would have liked to go to Formenos and tell his brother that his choice could already be put where… Better not to think of putting anything in any place right now, it was to redound on the subject. His first impulse had been to ask his father if he had gone mad –which would have been totally disrespectful, but true. Couldn't Finwë deny his beloved son anything? To the offspring of beloved Míriel?

Sitting in his room, days after his talk with the king, Nolofinwë Arakáno Finwion was still burning with indignation. He had never met his nephews again, who were aware of his father's choice - was that in that damn house they did not reserve anything? They did not know very well how to behave with him. For a time he valued the idea of looking for one of those who were attracted to him and giving himself to him -just to prevent his half-brother from being the first man to have him in his bed. However, he held himself back, telling himself that he was a prince of the house of Finwë and as such would behave. After all, he was receiving a great honor by being the crown prince's _quendil_.

The moment he came to that conclusion, a knock on the door announced to a servant - his mother did not knock on the door, and his father rarely went to his rooms. As soon as he ordered to enter, a waiter entered carrying a carved wooden box with motifs of the leaves of the Two Trees.

"A gift from His Highness, Prince Curufinwë," the servant reported and placed the box on the desk.

Surprised, Nolofinwë opened the box and anger made him pale: a silver necklace with set pearls and a single ruby in the middle slept on a black velvet background. Red was the color of the house of Curufinwë - called by his mother Spirit of Fire - and pearls… pearls were presented to lovers. The meaning could not be more evident.

Holding back his fury, he closed the box gently and gave thanks to the messenger, asking to pass them on to his half-brother.

As soon as the servant left the room, Nolofinwë put a cloak over his shoulders and left.

_____________________________

Laurefindë was surprised to meet Prince Nolofinwë in the market, but more surprised was when he greeted him with evident joy and went to meet him. Unlike most of the times they had met before, Nolofinwë walked alone and the elf thanked Eru with all his heart: it was difficult to speak to the beautiful prince when surrounded by his nephews, who seemed to be the guards of a maiden's virtue . And without a doubt, the Noldorin king's offspring was a treasure to guard. What Laurefindë would have wanted to know was which of his three cousins was reserving him for himself.

This afternoon, for the elf's enjoyment, not only Nolofinwë had any company; rather, he seemed unexpectedly open to the possibility of making further progress in their relationships. At past parties, Laurefindë had had the opportunity to steal a kiss from those almost feminine pink lips. Although the young elf had never directly rejected his seduction attempts, he had not encouraged them either, so for months he had remained on a kind of tightrope, not knowing how to continue. _Until today._

Nolofinwë was laughing and talking, more relaxed than ever and at a time when he wanted to show him some jewelry that a vendor offered, the prince's already strong arm wrapped around his friend's waist naturally. Laurefindë felt a shudder of pleasure go down his spine and without thinking, he put an arm around the young's neck and put his mouth close to the pointed ear, still without jewels that marked the maturity.

“Wouldn't you rather be in a more reserved place, Arakáno?” He suggested in a sensual whisper.

“What exactly do you suggest?” Nolofinwë smiled, offering him the vision of those beautiful blue-gray eyes, in an undeniable invitation.

“My house is a few blocks away. Let's have a few drinks there while we listen to music and ... and ...”

“And then we'll see what else we can think of, right?” The younger finished, always smiling.

Laurefindë nodded, excited by the possibilities. He was about to pull the prince to run him home and be able to undress and kiss that smooth white skin until the marks of his mouth were everywhere. With a violent effort, he forced himself to walk beside him, content with the arm that linked his as if nothing. Nolofinwë spoke of trivial things, without letting go of his arm, commenting on the acquaintances who passed by, exchanging greetings with the others ... From time to time, he supported a long-fingered hand in his partner's or carelessly brushed his shoulder or hair.

For a second, Laurefindë thought it strange that the prince was behaving in such… seductive way with him and at the same time allowing others to see him, when it was in the public domain that he had set his sights on Anairë Súrioniel and was expected to negotiations for marriage will begin as soon as the young prince reaches the age of majority. But all his precautions were gone as soon as the boy turned gently and said, with a half-smile:

“You're not paying attention to me, Lauro.”

The older's big eyes were absorbed in the clear forehead, the straight nose, the black eyebrows arched like a _nís_ , the mouth curved in a child's pout, the black curls tied with a blue silk ribbon ... and desire circulated in his blood with a force that almost stunned him.

“Of course I pay attention to you, Nolvo.” He said with an effort, raising a hand to catch one of those curls that escaped the tape and in doing so, he brushed the rosy cheek of the young man.

The blush covered the prince's face as he said:

“I have asked you twice if you will go to the ball at Arandil's house. His father is eager to announce his engagement and I am not quite sure if they will wait after my coming of age to celebrate.” He let out a disgruntled sigh. “It's a can, don't you think? Being the minor and not being able to participate in all the celebrations.”

"We can sneak you into the party," Laurefindë suggested, distracted by the movement of his lips. “We have done this before. Of course it will be difficult for you to go unnoticed: you are taller and more beautiful, Nolofinwë.”

“So you think?” He gave him a shy smile. “I am certain that some have not even noticed my existence.”

“I doubt it,” replied the older in a hoarse voice. “It is impossible for someone to ignore you.”

“Oh, I know of at least one person who has no idea even what I look like. If he had me in front, he wouldn't know me ...”

“That _someone_ is a complete idiot,” concluded the blond elf and unable to contain himself anymore, he grabbed the prince by the elbow and pulled him towards one of the nearby street intersections.

Nolofinwë allowed himself to be dragged away, hiding the smile that pushed the corners of his mouth. He was still furious with his half-brother and had almost been carried away a moment earlier by the rage his attitude produced in him; but in the end, he was achieving his goal.

Curufinwë would not be his first lover and also, he was giving Laurefindë the opportunity to be the one to seduce him. It had been a fluke to meet precisely his mother's half-Vanyarin cousin - Laurefindë's father had married a Noldorin lady - but a lucky fluke, no doubt. Just thinking about the moment when Curufinwë asked him if it was his first time and he answered no, that Laurefindë was his lover -oh! That would be the best gift of his coming of age, he admitted to himself the moment the other's lips met his.

He had been kissed before. In fact, several of his classmates on sprees and studies had come for him as soon as he left childhood behind. Even Cáno, his second nephew, had asked him to be the first to kiss him ... and of course, he had pleased him. Many times. He had also kissed _nísi_ ... and done something else with them. _Much more_. Only that, unlike other young people, he preferred to be discreet. Not on this occasion, however: he wanted his friendship with Laurefindë to be known, he wanted them to see the intimacy between them and that it reached the ears of his half-brother.

How dared he ignore him for years and suddenly, just decide that he would be his _quendil_? Like nothing! As if he, Nolofinwë Arakáno Finwion, had to be _grateful_ to him for having chosen him to fuck him whenever he felt like it! As if it was "an honor" for the crown prince to exercise dominion over his younger brother! Fuck that asshole!

The memory of the pearl necklace circulated the blood rabidly through Nolofinwë's body and with an impulse, he bit his partner's lower lip while digging his fingers into his shoulder to bring him closer.

Laurefindë moaned in pain and pleasure. He pressed himself against the younger's delicate and firm body, pressing his erection to his narrow hip and a shudder ran through him from head to toe. He didn't know why Nolofinwë had suddenly decided to accept his attention; but if he offered himself so magnificently, then - damn it - he would take it all. Even if he ran the risk of losing his head and heart on the way.

“Get away from him. Now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nolofinwë recognized the voice even before the warm invasion was removed from his mouth. For a second, he gasped unsatisfied before focusing his gaze on his half-brother, who with one hand grabbed Laurefindë by the robe and threw him against the opposite wall. The younger elf received a brief look of disapproval before Curufinwë focused on the blonde.

"Fuck off, Vanyarin," he ordered, his voice hoarse with anger. “I don't want to see you hanging around him anymore.”

"Prince Curufinwë ..." the other stammered, stunned. “Your Highness, we were not -I was not ...”

“I know what they were doing, vanyarin. Now, disappear from my sight before I kicked that golden butt through the streets of Tirion.”

He made to turn to his half-brother, but Laurefindë's voice stopped him.

"I really do feel something for Prince Nolofinwë, Your Highness."

The younger man understood that his companion had misinterpreted Curufinwë's attitude.

“I am not playing with him”, Laurefindë insisted

“Of course you’re not, you idiot.” Fëanáro laughed as if the idea alone was hilarious. “It is **he** who is playing with you.”

Nolofinwë fixed his gaze on Laurefindë and perceived that he showed no signs of surprise. In fact, his expression made it clear that he suspected it; but he was still willing to accept it.

Curufinwë must also have correctly interpreted the reaction of the golden-haired elf because he emitted a kind of growl and in two strides reached him. With a fist, he grabbed the front of Laurefindë's robe, lifting him on the balls of his feet to spit in his face, rabidly.

“Disappear, Vanyarin harlot. If I even hear you get close to him again, I'll tear that pretty face to pieces.” With a simple movement, he threw him onto the main street.

Still, Laurefindë stood for a moment on the street, looking at Nolofinwë with anxious eyes ... until he nodded reassuringly.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Curufinwë demanded and was already on his half-brother, catching him by the clothes.

“Strolling through the city with a friend?” ventured the young, with a smile of innocence that lit his beautiful eyes. “A _very_ dear friend.”

Curufinwë's gray eyes flickered over him.

Nerdanel was right, by Aulë's hammer: the damn boy had been made in his father's mold. There was not a drop of Vanyarin blood on the bastard. And he was fascinating.

He had seen him from afar in the market and decided to follow him to fulfill his promise to his wife. The longer he watched, the more he recognized details of Finwë - and himself - in the son of Indis. His way of walking, the graceful movements of his head every time he greeted someone, the way he raised an eyebrow when something did not convince him, the confidence he showed in each gesture, the grace with which he wore the elaborate clothes… everything in him screamed his Noldorin blood.

Then he saw him approach that damn half-vanyarin guy and smile at him like ... as if he -damn it! This boyish demon knew how to seduce. In a second, the elf had been eating from his hand, trembling with excitement ... and Fëanáro felt the rage roar inside him.

Russandol and Cáno had assured him that Nolofinwë was a virgin. As far as males were concerned, of course: it was stupid to think that some mature she-elves would let such a snack pass without pinching their teeth. But his father’s damned-bastard was rubbing like a cat in heat with that vanya in the middle of the street! As if he had actually done that a thousand times before! _As if he could be with anyone!_

“My father didn't talk to you?” He inquired after a few seconds of observing his half-brother with narrowed eyes.

“About what exactly? Attar and I talk often.” He pointed with a naive smile.

“About how in your coming of age you will be my _quendil_. Didn't you receive my gift this morning?” He added without transition and could see the shadow that crossed the young 's face.

Nolofinwë turned his head slightly, fighting the desire to hit his half-brother.

“I sent you my thanks with the messenger,” he replied in a controlled voice.

Fëanáro took a deep breath. How could he appear so calm when a few minutes before he had seen him pounce on that vanya like a hungry beast?

“You don't seem very excited ... little brother.”

“Oh, but I am, brother Curufinwë,” he replied, outlining that adorable smile again. “I am so excited ... I have no words to express myself.”

“Then don't talk.” Fëanáro's voice dropped to a hoarse roar as he got closer. “Show me _how_ excited you are, little brother.”

Nolofinwë fixed his narrowed eyes on his face. He thought that there was nothing more beautiful than his older brother, but the times when he dreamed of being the object of the affections of that beautiful and cruel specimen were already behind him.

“How do you expect me to do such a thing?”

“Judging from your behavior just now, I think you know that. Kiss me how you were kissing that vanyarin guy.”

“Laurefindë is not vanyarin,” he pointed. “He's only half vanyarin -like me.”

"So," added Fëanáro with a lopsided smile as he rested a hand on Nolofinwë's icy cheek and slid his thumb across his lower lip, "kiss me how you kissed that half Vanyarin ... half-brother."

Anger roared in Nolofinwë's chest. How dare he humiliate him in front of everyone? How dare he to despise him and then declare that he belonged to him? How dare he ... Before reflecting on what he was doing, he raised his hands to sink them into Curufinwë's loose hair and lowered his head, covering the few centimeters that separated them. His mouth collided violently with the older one and he could taste his own blood before pushing his tongue between his parted lips.

Fëanáro gasped, surprised by the momentum of the assault. Initially, he only let Nolofinwë explore his mouth with tongue and teeth, pushing and plundering with rage, responding and challenging. But suddenly he realized that he was being guided by his father's vanyarin bastard, and his fiery temper rebelled against that certainty.

He grabbed Nolofinwë by the clothes, forcing him to lower his head further and tangled his other hand in the elegantly arranged curls with flower water. Shit! This idiot smelled like an effeminate ... a _delicious_ effeminate, he recognized as he let his tongue roll inside the younger's mouth, savoring the resistance in the teeth that sought to hurt him. He pressed himself against Nolofinwë's tense body, feeling his tremors of rage and the hardness of his muscles against his own. He would become much more beautiful than now, he guessed, and when that happened, he would still be _his_.

He tucked one leg between his half-brother’s thighs, pressing his erection against the young man's hip.

Nolofinwë choked feeling the hard length against him. His fingers in Curufinwë's hair twitched like hooks and he tried to pull away from the invasion of his mouth. He managed to pull apart for air and before Curufinwë's lips dominated him again, he turned his face away.

"Don't tell me that my contact bothers you," the crown prince whispered against his skin.

“This is not ...” gasped the younger, feeling the heat circulating in his blood, concentrating on his crotch. “This is not what our father wanted ...”

“It's what **I** **want**.” The older elf's hot lips traced the line of his jaw toward the bare ear.

Nolofinwë felt his breath trace the bridge of his ear to the tip and back to the lobe to bite it gently, before the caress descended down his neck, seeking his throbbing pulse. Need roared through him, sweeping away all logical thoughts.

Brothers. Curufinwë Fëanáro had never been his brother. Maybe it was okay that he was his lover. Perhaps that was what was between them after all. Perhaps that was why they weren't able to… The thought was drowned out by the moan of pleasure and pain that rose from his throat as Curufinwë's teeth gripped his neck, almost against his shoulder.

Fëanáro bit the white skin with delight, ecstatic at the sensual sound that came from his half-brother’s throat. He imagined his moans when he finally had him and the erection vibrated painfully, caught in the tight pants.

For all the blessed Valar, he wanted to have him right there. He wanted to rip off those ornate clothes and bite and lick every stretch of skin… until Nolofinwë screamed with pleasure and begged him to take him. He wanted to turn him face to the wall and push between his thighs until he sank into the warmth of his body and let go as he bit down on his bare shoulders and neck. He wanted to mark him with his teeth, his hands, his scent, his sex ... until Nolofinwë wasn't even able to breathe if it wasn't because he ordered it. With an effort, he released the flesh and ran his tongue over the mark, which was darkening rapidly. He smiled thinking that Nolofinwë was going to have to wear a high neck for days.

"I'm going to enjoy our relationship very much," he assured Nolofinwë's ear, licking the curve to the tip.

"And I will enjoy making it as difficult for you as possible ... half-brother," replied the younger one, his voice hoarse with excitement.

Fëanáro felt hunger build up in him at the challenge.

“It's a threat?” He leaned back to look at him with eyes bright with desire.

"It is a promise," Nolofinwë said, staring back at him through the long black lashes.

“I'm looking forward to your coming of age ... little brother. Now, go back to our father's house.” His gray eyes darkened, menacing. “And remember that if I find out that this half- Vanya is around you again, I will tear his head apart.”

“Is the warning valid only for those who have Vanyarin blood?” Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow.

Fëanáro's heart soared. Damn boy! Nolofinwë's smirk warmed him insides. Bastard: he knew how to ignite his blood this offspring of a vanyarin harlot. His fist clenched against the star-embroidered clothes; but the mockery did not disappear from the boy's face.

“Dare to touch another or let them touch you, and take upon you what happens to your lover,” Fëanáro declared savagely. “You are mine, son of Indis, and nobody touches what belongs to me.”

“Oh! I was saying it for your own good ... my brother. Wouldn't you prefer that I came to you with enough experience to give you pleasure and delight? How do you expect me to if I don't practice as much as I can in the meantime? Shouldn't I learn…?”

The phrase was interrupted by another violent kiss that clashed their bodies until the two gasped for breath.

Fëanáro pulled away, doubting he could contain himself if he continued to touch him, and for a second, his sex ached out of need at Nolofinwë’s unfocused eyes and half-open mouth.

“I will teach you everything you need to know to please me, brat. Now, to your house, to dream of our next meeting.” He patted a cheek, mocking and walked away at a quick pace.

Nolofinwë stared after him, trembling with rage; but laugh curved his mouth when he realized that Curufinwë was walking a little hesitantly and uncomfortably.


	5. Chapter 5

Nerdanel frowned at the noise coming from the bathrooms. She pushed open the door and walked to the edge of the pool to discover, amazed, that it was her husband who was swimming from one side to the other. It was almost four hours before the lights were mixed, so it was strange that Fëanáro was at home, when he generally stayed until the mixture in the forge.

“All good?” She asked after seeing him swim without being aware of her presence.

Fëanáro stopped immediately and rested his feet on the mosaic floor to stand up, brushing his hair away from his face, shaking like a spirited steed.

“Why shouldn't I be?” He asked in response.

Nerdanel narrowed her eyes: of course something was wrong. She felt the tension in her husband's body and could assure that he was as furious as… excited.

“Did you go see your father?” She ventured, suspecting where the fury was coming from.

“No. I was in the forge for most of the morning and then I went to Rúmil's house for lunch. We had… ” He ran a hand over his head to the nape of his neck, as if he needed to accommodate his thoughts. “I wanted him to review some translations of the valarin I am preparing for the Harvest Festival.”

“And that left you so stressed?” She raised her eyebrows.

Fëanáro watched her in suspense for a moment, his hand pressing on his own neck and his mouth slightly open. He wasn't stressed, he thought. He was trembling with desire and frustration, and with rage that that damn vanyarin bastard had set him on fire with a need he had not felt before.

“Come to the water with me”, he invited her, narrowing his eyes.

“It's noon and the children are ...”

“What children? Our children are almost of age. They will be adults in no time.”

"Well," she smiled, "Maitimo will actually be an adult before his uncle."

A shudder ran through Fëanáro's muscular body and before Nerdanel understood what was happening, she saw him swim to the opposite side of the pool and dive. Frowning, the she-elf waited for him to emerge from the water a few seconds later. She watched him push himself out with his arms taut from the effort and grab a cloth to dry himself vigorously.

“Fëanáro ...”

“Today I found him on the market.” He informed curtly. “Indis’s bastard.”

“I see.” Finally, Nerdanel saw where the juice entered the fruit. “AND?”

“He looks a lot like his father. He even has a certain attraction for Vanyarin beauty.”

“Seriously?” Nerdanel was surprised. “I thought I heard that he was courting the daughter of Súrion.”

“He was with Laurefindë. Very affectionate, by the way.”

“I see.” She fixed her gaze on her husband's back as he dried himself with so much energy that he seemed to want to tear off his skin. “AND?”

“And what?” He replied, half turning to look at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“Did you change your mind about ... making him your _quendil_?”

“No.”

Nerdanel opened her mouth to insist, but he wrapped the piece of cloth around his hips and left the room before any sound could be modulated. Puzzled by his attitude, she thought that perhaps it was better to wait a bit before telling him of her suspicions of a sixth Fëanorion on the way.

_______________________________

As Nerdanel pointed out, Maitimo's coming of age came soon. Both his father and grandfather had engaged in preparing a feast that would be remembered while the Trees illuminated Valinor. In addition, the occasion was propitious to announce that in seven mixtures of the lights it would be the coming of age of Nolofinwë Arakáno, the king's second son. The news was received with interest by the guests, since it was ensured that the crown prince would take a _quendil_ that day and curious rumors spread about it. Although, after so many years of meeting Curufinwë Fëanáro, there was not much to be surprised about when it came to him.

Nolofinwë participated in the party as part of the family. As a minor, he couldn't drink wine, so the young elf was bored in a corner, pretending not to notice that his nephews were not as controlled by their parents. Cáno was a little drunk, in fact and Moryo was laughing more than usual -well, Moryo laughing was already out of the ordinary. Tyelkormo, the third child of his half-brother, was courting a girl who must have older than him for a few years. Only Maitimo, who was the honoree, seemed to behave as seriously as ever. The handsome redhead was sitting between his grandfather and his father and received everyone's attentions with the gravity of a true prince.

"You have to stay with us today," a voice suddenly said beside him, and Nolofinwë turned to find himself face to face with Canafinwë, who was leaning over him, handing him a glass of wine. “We are going to celebrate late and Russo would love to have you around.”

“And your father would love for me to break my neck before the end of the day”, he replied while taking a look around before drinking quickly.

“Of course not!” Cáno laughed, his eyes bright with wine. “Atto will be happy for you to stay. Also, you have to get used to it. I am sure that after the ceremony, he will always want to have you by his side. Who wouldn't want to have you by their side?”

“Yes, so he can kick me whenever you want”, he commented, recalling an occasion when being an elfling he had run to meet his brother and he had kicked him away, leaving him lying on the ground like a bundle.

"And hug you when he feels like it," added his nephew, oblivious to his dark memories. “And kiss you.”

He reached out a hand and stroked a curl of his uncle while resting his cheek on the other hand.

“And caress you. He will be able to hug you, kiss you and caress you whenever he feels like it, Nolvo.”

Nolofinwë turned in front of his nephew, ready to send him to flight for making fun of him, but the words stuck in his throat as he met the younger elf's absorbed gaze. From the curl that curled around his forefinger, Canafinwë began to caress his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips.

“Cáno…”

"Sshh," the finger pressed gently to his lips and Cáno leaned toward him until their foreheads touched. “Why didn't you take me sooner, Nolvo? If you and I had -If I were your _quendil_ , Father would not have chosen you for him. Now, I can never kiss you again, Nolvo.”

“Macalaurë”, he tried with his maternal name, trying to show a severity that left him in face of the discovery he was making, “you are talking nonsense. You are my nephew and ...”

“And Father is your brother. And you will be in his bed, in his arms. It will be he who makes your body sing with pleasure and who shudders against you on the cusp of ecstasy.” Hells! Canafinwë did know how to speak. “I'm going to die of jealousy, Nolvo. Of jealousy and envy of him.”

“Cáno, you ... you like _nísi_ ”, Nolofinwë pointed, blinking.

“And? I like _nísi,_ but I like you more. Why didn't you take me, Nolvo? Why didn't you claim me for yourself? I will soon come of age and then I would be yours. Did you like Russo better? Didn't you like my kisses enough to claim me?”

“Cáno, that's not ...”

“I can't touch you anymore.” Canafinwë continued as tears welled up in his gray eyes. “You will not kiss me again. You will be _his_. I should have guessed that he would take you for himself as soon as he discovered the wonderful creature you are. He wants everything that is beautiful and fascinating, and you, Nolvo, are the most beautiful thing in the world. Tell me: am I not as beautiful as he is? They say we look alike ... maybe ... maybe you will find that you like me more than him if ... if you try ...”

The teenager's voice had become a gasping murmur and by pure intuition, Nolofinwë managed to dodge the kiss that looked for his mouth.

Canafinwë's trembling lips pressed against his cheek as his fingers slid down to caress his uncle's neck.

Nolofinwë put both hands on the boy's shoulders and held him gently. For a moment, he was stunned by the discovery he made. He must have suspected it: ever since Cáno asked him to teach him how to kiss, he must have suspected that there was something like that. On all those occasions when little by little the kisses between them became a ritual at the beginning and at the end of each meeting, and after each song ... every time Canafinwë made him lie on his legs or put his head on those of him -But it never crossed his mind that his nephew felt more than a passing attraction, something perfectly natural between boys of the same age, equally beautiful and full of vitality.

Suddenly, he realized what his nephew's last words implied: "... maybe you will find that you like me more than him...", and he understood that Cáno thought that he was attracted to Fëanáro. How could he think such foolishness? If he could choose ...

His furious gaze wandered around the party, discovering the attractive presence of his half-brother with his wife and first-born. He thought that Varda was giving him a chance to get rid of that jerk. Curufinwë had said that he would destroy anyone who touched him, but what if he was one of his own children? How would Curufinwë react when he entered his second son's room and found them naked, holding each other, still sweaty with shared passion?

He pushed Cáno away slightly and looked at his face gently: he did look like his father. The same proud nose, the same slightly puckered full lips that begged to be kissed and bitten, the same straight eyebrows… Kissing Canafinwë had been a true delight all along, and Nolofinwë realized that in part it had been like imagining kissing Curufinwë, like if he had some of the affection of his older brother. He ran a finger along the edge of the teenager's flushed face.

“Let's go inside, okay?” he said tenderly. “You have drunk too much and you are not yet old enough to get drunk. Your mother wouldn't like to see you like this.”

Mesmerized by the light caress on his cheek and temple, Cáno nodded and obediently rose to his feet to be led by his uncle. Nolofinwë was sticking a head at his nephew, so he was almost against his side.

Since Curufinwë and his family's main residence was located in Formenos, Tirion's mansion was quite small and modest. Although he did not know the interior, Nolofinwë had no difficulty finding his way in search of the house owners' rooms. It was also easy for him to identify Canafinwë's bedroom - who at that point was of little help, just lying against the body of his uncle while purring with pleasure - since the first door he opened left him in front of an extremely neat and organized room that it could only belong to Maitimo, while the second gave way to a dim place where the scrolls scattered over the desk abounded. Furthermore, Nolofinwë made out at least two harps and a lute on the ground, not counting some instruments whose names he did not even imagine.

With ease, he led his nephew to bed and settled him as best he could, after picking up a syringe and two crystal flutes.

Canafinwë turned on his back and opened his eyes, unexpectedly lucid as he noticed the face of his father's half-brother.

“Am I bothering you, Nolvo?” He asked suddenly.

“No!” The older smiled. “Why…?”

“I know that you don’t feel with me in the same way that I -I know that it is not reciprocal, but I had to say it. At least once.”

Nolofinwë saw the shame in his gray eyes and also the resignation, and decided that it cost him nothing to make him feel better. Something he would have appreciated if someone would grant him. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Cano's. Then he parted enough to say quietly:

“If I could have chosen, it would have been you.”

Canafinwë let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately Nolofinwë caught the rhythmic breathing of a sleeping child.

He went to the window and closed the curtains to darken the room, and went out, closing the door carefully. He had barely taken a few steps when he discovered the dark silhouette at the end of the corridor.

He stopped dead, unsure whether to continue or just turn around and ... Before he could decide, his brother started walking in his direction. Determined not to show his discomfort, Nolofinwë walked towards him.


	6. Chapter 6

As they walked towards each other, Nolofinwë raised his head, hating himself for remembering at that moment the jewels that had not stopped arriving at his house. His father pretended not to notice the sudden interest of his oldest son and his mother only let her gaze reflect anger, but nobody talked about it. Only Írien had shown some understanding of his unusual situation, telling him that he could talk to her whenever he wanted; however, his sister was younger than him, a girl who barely ...

“You are not using any of my gifts. You do not like them?”

Curufinwë's voice interrupted his reflections when he reached his height. The younger hesitated, not knowing whether to stop to face him. Finally, he answered without stopping to walk:

“They don't match my wardrobe.”

An iron grip closed on his forearm and stopped him. He did not turn his head, keeping his eyes at the end of the corridor.

"You should have told me you preferred sapphires and silver," said the elder. “I will make you a set of silver bracelets with aquamarines and turquoises. And a necklace. You still can't wear earrings, but after your majority you will be able…”

"I don't want your gifts," Nolofinwë hissed, turning at last to look at him with eyes bright with rage.

Curufinwë stared in fascination at the unique color of those eyes. At that moment, they glowed almost blue in Laurelin's light; but the steely nuance was insinuated, close to the hour of the mixing of the lights.

"I'm going to make gems like your eyes," he declared suddenly, and raised his hand to take his half brother's cheek and to be able to look more closely at the bottom of those precious eyes. “There is no gem of that color and I am going to make it. For you.”

An unexpected emotion twisted Nolofinwë's stomach. A shudder ran through him and before he knew what had assaulted him, he went over to his half-brother and pressed his lips against his.

Fëanáro held his breath, surprised by the reaction of Nolofinwë, who so far only made clear his discontent with ... He stopped thinking when the other elf's tongue slipped inside his mouth, exploring and caressing. It wasn't the furious kiss of the market at all. The vanyarin's bastard's mouth was delicate and safe; his tongue, a delight that he sought and offered; his teeth, a soft touch that unleashed lava flows in the older's veins -Oh! That mouth on his body.

As unexpectedly as it started, the kiss ended and Fëanáro groaned in frustration at the loss. The grip on his half-brother's arm tightened again, and without taking his eyes from Nolofinwë's flushed face, he pulled him toward a door.

“What are you…?” The younger one began to inquire, resisting when he saw himself in a kind of study, but before he could defend himself, Curufinwë pushed him onto a sofa and covered him with his tense body.

His older brother's mouth was demanding and almost wild when he found his. Their bodies rubbing together in an inconceivable dance, and Nolofinwë felt his sex harden against Curufinwë's. Finally, the older one pulled away, panting, and let his lips run over the other's face.

"I want to see you wearing my jewelry," he ordered hoarsely. “I made them for you. For your body. For your skin. I made them for you to use without anything else on you.”

“Do you want to see me adorned with trifles like a female?” Nolofinwë scoffed, but his tone was also warped from excitement, and he jumped as Curufinwë's teeth gripped his earlobe.”

“Yes”, he blew into his skin, making him sway like a taut rope.

However, if Fëanáro was aware of anything, it was that Nolofinwë was not effeminate. Everything about him was tremendously masculine in an exquisite way, and that was where most of the appeal of the situation lay: to dominate this magnificent male, make him scream with pleasure and need, control his emotions and needs ... know that he belonged to him. That was the best of all: no one in the world, in the history of the Eldar, would ever have the privilege of owning the perfect _quendil_ -just him.

A gasp came from his throat as his hands untied the diamond clasps on the robe. Stars. Nolofinwë wore stars on his jewelry and clothing, and Fëanáro made a mental note.

Like a good prince, Nolofinwë wore each and every garment that protocol required –including a white silk shirt that made Fëanáro growl impatiently before tearing it open to bare his half-brother's chest. He stroked his pecs with outstretched palms and lowered his head to kiss a nipple. Nolofinwë moaned beneath him and struggled to break free from the torture that sent bolts of desire all over his body. Fëanáro imprisoned him with all his weight and continued to lick and nibble until he felt the stiff cock of the younger against his abdomen. With a triumphant smile, he turned his attention to the other nipple and almost lost control of himself as moans erupted from Nolofinwë’s throat in an unstoppable song. _More_. He wanted more of that body, of those moans ...

For a second, he wondered if he had suddenly gone crazy –crazy about this half-vanyarin boy; but before considering the matter further, he was already descending his contracted abdomen, looking for the ties of the leggings while his mouth traced ritual drawings on the flat stomach. He knew from experience that his half-brother was not given to physical activities and that he spent more time with his father's advisers than in the gyms; however, Nolofinwë had the body of an athlete: each hard and defined muscle, each limb a promise of strength, each centimeter of skin touched by the light of the Trees ... Breath caught for an instant in Fëanáro's throat when he released his half brother's erection and he appreciated the exquisiteness of his manhood. The perfect quendil was repeated as he lowered his head.

Nolofinwë gasped and let out a curse: the warm wetness that found the tip of his cock made him raise his head in disbelief ... and there it was, Curufinwë's mouth on him, tongue licking, drawing rings on his stiff member, hand rough stroking and lightly pressing the base, hard testicles of excitement ... Oh, by the Valar! It was glory itself and he dropped his head back as he felt it sink into his older brother's throat. Everything disappeared around him, leaving only that terribly delicious mouth and the moans that shook his body. He raised his hands and plunged them into Curufinwë's black hair, fighting the urge to guide him faster, harder, deeper. Varda Elentári! Curufinwë knew well how to do it, how to make his whole body vibrate, that he was all just a bundle of nerves and overexcited senses, that he was pleading for more without words ...

Fëanáro savored the first impulse of his partner's ecstasy and withdrew, continuing to caress the cock with his whole hand, hard and fast. Nolofinwë's back arched and the semen spilled into a hot spout, spilling onto Fëanáro's fingers and his own belly. The older elf stared at him in fascination, experiencing a painful need, gasping at almost the same rhythm as Nolofinwë's moans ... Impetuously, he leaned over him and kissed him fiercely. Nolofinwë trembled against his chest, still spasming from orgasm.

When Nolofinwë's vision cleared, so did his thoughts, and his anger at Curufinwë and himself almost wiped out the newly experienced pleasure. Violently, he shoved the other male, knocking him to the ground, but Fëanáro's hands gripped his body, pulling him, and they both rolled on the ground.

More skillful than his half-brother and in the fullness of his strength, Fëanáro managed to stay on top and grabbed Nolofinwë's wrists to hold them above his head.

"Don't fight," he ordered, hoarsely, kissing and licking the young's lips and neck. “Don't fight with yourself, Nolvo. You want me ... you want this as much as I do.”

“Seriously?” The other scoffed and each attempt to free himself, only managed to rub more against the erection of Fëanáro, who moaned gasping. “Do you think I like to be humiliated and made fun of? Do you think I like being your damn sex toy?”

Fëanáro raised his head, bewildered by his outburst and stared at him with a frown.

"My ..." he repeated. “I am not treating you like a toy. You are going to be my _quendil_ , Nolofinwë.”

“Oh! Now it would turn out that I should be flattered that you have discovered a new way to hurt my mother and that this way is to fuck me when you feel lik it.”

“It is not…”

Fëanáro remained silent, realizing that he was about to deny that he wanted to disturb Indis by choosing her son as a quendil; but he remembered that this had been his first reason ... before seeing his half-brother seducing Laurefindë in the middle of the street. Now, he wasn't sure how much he wanted to tease and humiliate his father's second family… and how much he wanted this boy. He wasn't even sure there was a dividing line between the desire to dominate and subdue him and ...

"I chose you, Nolofinwë," he declared rudely. “I chose you for me and your father agreed.”

“Of course he agreed. _My father_ is always _your father_ first.”

Nolofinwë immediately regretted letting out the bitterness in his tone. With a brusque gesture, he managed to free himself from Fëanáro and sat down, turning his back to fix his clothes. How the hell did he let this happen? How had he succumbed to his half-brother's charm once again? He recalled how many times as an infant he believed he perceived a wisp of affection in Curufinwë's attitude and had come to him full of hope -only to make the rejection more painful, more ... humiliating. He stirred rebelliously as Curufinwë's arms wrapped around him from behind, stopping his hands on the starry clasps. He stiffened as he felt the hug compel him to lean against his half-brother's chest as his strong legs gripped his and the other's mouth caressed the nape of his neck to the earlobe. A shudder of desire ran through him.

"Forget your father," Fëanáro ordered in his ear. “Forget your mother. You are mine. It's me you have to think about. I'm the only one who has to care. My body against yours. My mouth on yours, on your body ... your mouth on me.” As he spoke, he slid his hands down the young elf's chest, tugging on the robe until it hung at elbow level and ran down bare skin, down to the embroidered leggings. “It's the only thing that matters: this between you and me. The desire ... the hunger that devours us alike. I feel it on your skin, in your voice ... in your smell ... you want me, Nolofinwë. Your body is screaming it.”

Shit. Nolofinwë Arakáno blinked, stunned: the very stupid idiot knew how to use words. No wonder they all fell at his feet like insects in the light. And his hands, he admitted, while those fingers hardened by the handling of the tools undressed his already half hard sex and caressed it almost tenderly. He threw his head back, abandoning himself against the body of his half-brother, resting his head on his shoulder, feeling the caresses on his sex, the mouth on his neck ...

“You are mine,” Fëanáro repeated and raising a hand, he grabbed him by the chin to force him to turn his face and offer him his half-open mouth.

He kissed him wildly, biting his lower lip, sucking on the tongue that met his.

Together they fell to the ground, side by side, their mouths together ... a tangle of tongues, legs and arms ... breaths exchanged in anxious gasps ... Fëanáro released a hand to desperately pull his own robe: the clasp representing the eight-pointed star jumped away from them and Nolofinwë's hands finished ripping off his clothes to bare his muscular tanned torso.

The crown prince moaned aloud as the other came after him, tracing wet paths with his tongue on his chest, up to his hard nipples, and returning his previous attentions. He arched against Nolofinwë, pushing his hips to meet the erection that touched his through his pants ... why on earth was there so much clothing between them?

"More," he gasped fiercely, moving in line with the licks on his nipples. “More, Nolvo. I want ... I _need_ more of you.”

The younger did not even bother to answer in any other way than by looking for the fly and undoing the clasps to release his brother's hard cock. He ran the thick length with one hand, circling it and moving up and down, back and forth. A hoarse hiss escaped from Fëanáro's clenched teeth as Nolofinwë's thumb stroked the tip and spread the first drops of moisture along the limb, wisely. A second later, Nolofinwë's mouth was on his throat, on the racing pulse, on his ear - the tip of his tongue playing and pulling the ring of gold and rubies - and the young's voice caressed his insides as much as the skin.

“Am I doing well, my prince?” Fëanáro almost screamed. “Have I learned well? Have I been a good disciple this time?”

“Y-yes.” Talking was torture as much as that hand on him, and it was worse when the other’s hand moved inside his pants to playfully massage his butt and go between his thighs. “Yes, little brother. You are a delicious disciple when you want.”

“Or when I'm motivated, big brother. Teach me how…”

Nolofinwë fell silent with a purring protest as Fëanáro rushed into his mouth with his tongue and teeth. After a few seconds, they were both panting so hard that their breasts touched painfully. The youngest felt the desire to devour him like an uncontrollable fire. His fingers pressed between Fëanáro's buttocks and he wondered if his brother would ever allow him to take him. Surely not when all of this was about dominating and humiliating him...

"Follow me," Fëanáro ordered with dark eyes of passion and now it was his hand that searched the back of Nolofinwë's body.

Damn! The vanyarin bastard had a good ass, he admitted, enjoying the firmness of the buttocks and the resistance his body presented when his finger pushed into the entrance. Yes, definitely a virgin. Mhm. He kissed him, hungry and triumphant.

“Relax, _Nolofinwëya,_ ” he whispered against his half-open mouth and pushed with his forefinger again. “Open up for me. Like this ... Do the same ... Like that, damn it!”

Nolofinwë bit his lower lip to hold back the laugh that came when his brother burst into a scream once he put his finger into his sphincter, following the intrusions into his body. Now the two were pressed against each other, the hard cocks rubbing in the heat of their bellies and penetrating each other with their fingers.

Fëanáro was the first to move his hand - in and out, over and over - and his half-brother followed suit, ignoring the discomfort in his sphincter, enjoying only the exquisite pressure. Suddenly, Fëanáro's finger found a point that made Nolofinwë arch and cry out. Fëanáro's mouth devoured the moans and the only way to respond was to look for himself until it was the older's turn to roar as he trembled with pleasure.

For an eternity, they were two musicians played the instruments that were their bodies perfectly coupled, pushing in sync, rubbing the rods against each other and between their bodies.

Nolofinwë was the first to succumb to ecstasy: a burst of white fire before his eyes and the semen exploded between them.

The orgasm of his brother, the tremors of his tense body, the vibrations of his internal walls around his finger, the contractions of the cock against his belly, the fluids that moistened his torso and oiled the friction between them ... all together was too much for Fëanáro, who let himself go with a deep groan and narrowed eyes.

For a while they remained motionless, still holding each other, refusing to leave the other's body. Fëanáro was the first to move to gently kiss the young's half-open mouth.

"We have to get back outside," Nolofinwë recalled when he was able to speak.

“have we?” the older pouted and his brother laughed when he saw his unexpectedly youthful expression.

“We have. It will take two minutes for my mother to release the hounds to find me, and your wife will have sent servants to the forge to see where you hid.”

Fëanáro pulled away with a resigned sigh and leaned back, letting the coldness of the floor cool his sweaty skin.

“Will you stay here?” he asked at last, without looking at him.

Before answering, Nolofinwë sat down and adjusted the robe on his shoulders. For a second, he gazed critically at the torn shirt and the bite marks and bruises on his chest: great, it looked like he had had sex with a wild beast. In other words, it seemed that he had done what he really had done, he recognized, fighting against the annoyance inside him.

“Nolvo ...”

His older brother's voice was a peremptory claim as his fingers reached under the robe to touch the line of his spine.

“I will not stay to sleep in your house,” he finally answered and turned a little to face him. “There is no need for us to pretend a feeling that does not exist between us, Curufinwë.” Seeing the gray eyes darken dangerously, he hastened to add: “There is lust, I don't deny that. I want you… possibly more than you want me; but that does not make us lovers -It does not even make the bond you intend to forge between us more real. I will be your _quendil_ , but not because I want to be, but so as not to upset _Atar_. Since you are the most valuable thing in his heart, I will only be something else that the Noldorin king could not deny you.”

"You want me," Fëanáro insisted as if his half-brother had not admitted it a moment before.

Nolofinwë watched him with eyes as gray as his father's, and his brother understood that the hour of the mixing of lights had passed. He nodded.

"When the light of Telperion has reached its maximum brightness seven times from today," he began in a calm tone, "I will be of age and from that day on, you will be my _heru_ ; but not today. Not yet. You asked me if I would stay. While I can choose, I choose not to be by your side, Curufinwë.”

A flash of anger crossed Fëanáro's perfect features, who jumped up and arranged his pants with rough gestures. He felt the urge to hit the damn bastard, beat him to erase the self-sufficient expression of those exquisite features and see the serenity of that warm pink mouth disappear ... shit! A stab of something unusual sank into his chest.

‘ _I choose not to be by your side._ ’

How could he say such a thing after what they had shared? How could he be so calm while he was still trembling inside from the pleasure he experienced? How could he stay there, like nothing, when he was yearning to pounce on his mouth, his body ... and claim everything ... until they were one again and forever? He breathed hard to control the blood boiling in his ears.

“Get out,” he ordered with disdain, without turning to look at him.

With apparent disinterest, he looked for the pin that he throw the frenzy of passion. Behind him, he noticed that the younger elf was arranging his clothes as best he could and combing his hair with his fingers, arranging the curls to look half-decent. Yes, ‘half’, because after that day, whatever Nolofinwë looked like, he would always look ‘indecently sensual’ to him. Without saying another word, Nolofinwë went to the door and Fëanáro stood with the clasp in hand.

"I want you to stay away from my children," he said coldly. The other turned toward him, bewildered. “I'm not an idiot, half-vanyarin: you came from Canafinwë's room. I don't want you to influence my children. If there’s something they don't need, it's your company. And there is no need for you to seduce my son when you will become my _sex toy_ soon.”

“I have no such interest in ...”

“Maybe one day I will let them play with you”. He added with a half smile, malicious. “I, like my father, do not deny my children anything.”

Anger stained Nolofinwë's cheeks, but he didn't say a word. After bowing, he quietly withdrew, closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Nolofinwë dropped onto the bed, face down. He had been dodging his mother for days, who kept harassing him with questions about where he was during Nelyafinwë's coming-of-age party. That morning he had managed to escape from the palace to end up in a bookstore where he ran into his nephews. It had been quite awkward trying to carry on a normal conversation - as if in a few days he wasn't going to become their father's lover - not counting on Cáno's embarrassment, who didn't look at him straight once and blushed every time he spoke to him. The bottom line had been that he had run away from them ... only to run into Anairë.

Anairë. Súrion's daughter was not an unusual beauty, but she had a kind and sweet air that concealed a firm and serene character, and that was what he liked about her. Although every time they met, Anairë blushed like ripe fruit and glowed with excitement at his attentions, the young elf behaved with complete composure. They both knew they were attracted to each other and had talked about it naturally, openly, agreeing that when Nolofinwë came of age, he would ask permission to woo her. But now all that had changed. When they met that morning, Nolofinwë had not known how to face Anairë and the girl's offended expression when perceiving his reserve broke her heart. But how would he tell her that he could possibly never marry her? In case she agreed to marry another  _ ner _ 's lover, Nolofinwë would still need his  _ heru _ 's approval to marry -and he was sure that Curufinwë would not approve of anything that would make him happy.

  
  


A knock on the door forced him to get up with a grunt of disgust. When it opened, his sister Írien burst into the room hugging a wooden box.

“Someone sent you a gift. It was brought by a very handsome waiter who is an apprentice to our brother Fëanáro,” reported the girl, whose appearance suggested a little more than the few years she still had.

Írien was the next to be born after Nolofinwë and like his other siblings, she had inherited most of the Vanyarin traits. With Findis - the oldest daughter - married, Írien was the only female in the house and was pampered even by little Ingoldo, who barely raised half a meter from the floor. Furthermore, Írien was the closest to her brother and the one with whom he understood best in the family. He did not pretend or use his usual diplomatic ways with her.

“And you offered yourself to bring it to me?” he raised an eyebrow.

Already sitting on the bed, Írien put the box in front of her and looked at him suspiciously.

“Mother would have created a huge scandal when she found out that our brother sent you another gift.”

"Half brother, Lalwen," he corrected, using her maternal name. “And you know that Curufinwë doesn't like us to call him by the name his mother gave him.”

“He is not here to listen to us and it is very rare to call him Curufinwë when he has named his last son like that.”

“He’s not the last," Nolofinwë pointed out, recalling that the day before their father announced during the meal that Nerdanel was pregnant again. The young elf had hoped that the news would bring with it the news that Curufinwë gave up on his quest to take  _ quendil _ . But Finwë said nothing of the sort, and the box brought by Írien shattered any hope.

“Aren't you going to open it?” said the teenager. “I hope that our brother does not have any more children or soon he will have to move to Formenos in order to live together.”

“Half-brother. That move would not be bad.”

“Of course it would! You should go with him, do you forget?” she rebuked him with furrowed eyebrows.

"Whenever I can," Nolofinwë sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the box.

He was also trying to forget the madness he experienced against his brother's body, the devastating need that remained inside him, burning and waking him up in gasps to find the sheets wet with sweat and semen, like an incontinent young elf, with certainty having dreamed of the caresses and words of Curufinwë. Unconsciously, he ran his fingertips over the reliefs on the box, representing Varda’s constellations: someone had taken a long time doing that. He frowned and opened the box ... and held his breath.

“By Manwë’s sake!” Exclaimed Írien, her eyes wide. “It's ... it's ...  **beautiful** !”

  
  


And it was. At the bottom of navy blue velvet rested a network of silver chains, the links of which were tiny stars that intertwined to draw constellations ... n-no ... tengwar! The stars drew tengwar to form the name of Nolofinwë. But the top of the jewel was the gem set in the star-shaped charm: it was a stone like Nolofinwë did not see it before. Seen from an angle it looked blue, but, when the light fell from the other side, it was gray like the eyes of the Noldor.

"Wow," Írien breathed, gaping. “Fëanáro must hold you in high esteem to do something like this for you. That stone is the color of your eyes during the Mingling of Lights.”

Nolofinwë swallowed hard, fighting the knot in his stomach. _Esteem_ … 

As he ran his fingertips through the network of silver stars, he thought that if lust accomplished this of Curufinwë, what would it be like to have his love? Perhaps Nerdanel was truly a lucky creature.


	8. Chapter 8

Finwë Noldoran, High King of the Noldor, was a lucky Elda. That had no discussion. After the departing of Míriel - whom he had loved beyond sanity and who still retained most of his heart - the king had believed that he would never feel happiness again. His love was poured into Curufinwë, the only fruit of his first marriage and for a long time, he had been all that mattered. Until he met Indis. 

The king did not even remember how he fell in love with the young Vanyarin: one day he looked her in the eye and knew he needed her by his side. She blushed at his intense gaze and without waiting for him to say a word, she nodded in a whisper. Of course, Fëanáro was not happy with the new family addiction: shortly after, he entered as an apprentice to Mahtan and spent less and less time with his father. When Indis announced his first pregnancy, Fëanáro announced that he would marry Nerdanel. When Finwë held his daughter Findis in his arms, he knew he had found happiness a second time ... and for a time Fëanáro almost accepted his sister, especially since Nerdanel would soon give birth to a son. However, then Indis announced that she was waiting again ... and everything got complicated. Finwë would never forget the expression of his firstborn when he saw his second half brother: a male. A Noldorin prince in all his extension.

Finwë Noldoran looked at his son Nolofinwë and tenderness and pride mixed in his chest. He remembered that first moment he held him, so small that he wondered how it was possible that that little thing could cry so hard. At that time he almost fit in his hands and now - dressed in the elegant navy silk tunic, the silver embroidered belt, the stars adorning the sleeves and hem of the tunic, the black hair gathered in braids that formed a network in around the thick curly mane - he was taller than Finwë, than Fëanáro… and so beautiful that the Valar paled in his presence. Adult. His second child had matured faster than he expected to see him in the crib, a prince from head to toe.

  
  


As if he could feel his father's gaze, Nolofinwë tilted his head slightly over his right shoulder and looked up at him from the corner of his eye. A slow blink was the only greeting that changed with the king; but it was enough for Finwë to smile, feeling the most proud and fortunate of the Noldor… until the door of the hall was opened with a dry knock and footsteps resounded on the marble floor. Finwë sensed Nolofinwë's back tensing, and even if he hadn't known those firm, sure steps, he would have guessed who it was.

Those present moved aside to make way for Prince Curufinwë, who did not stop until he reached the throne. Finwë almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his firstborn had decided to dress according to the circumstances: he wore a red tunic with black and gold trim, the skirts of which were opened over tight black leather pants. Straight hair covered his shoulders and back like a silk cloak, only held at the temples by the silver ring adorned with a ruby between his eyebrows.

Fëanáro came before the throne and bowed gracefully only to his father. He passed his brother, who was the honoree, and stood to the right of the king. Finwë held his breath for a second, thinking of telling his son that he should congratulate Nolofinwë; but then he remembered the true reason for Fëanáro's presence there and the words died in his mouth.

  
  


Nolofinwë clenched his jaw, fighting the fire that circulated in his veins. Curufinwë had arrived. No one from his family accompanied him, probably because they did not want to witness the next ceremony, and the young elf hated him more for distancing him from the best friends he ever had. His nephews would never look at him the same way again after today ... and yet a strange excitement twisted Nolofinwë's stomach at the thought of what would come next. Again Curufinwë's burning skin against his, Curufinwë's mouth on his mouth, on his body ... his mouth on his half brother's body ... With an effort, he managed to focus on the counselor who presented him with a gift.

Immediately afterwards Súrion approached to offer his respects to the prince, accompanied by his only daughter. Anairë bowed gracefully and on behalf of her family presented her gift to Nolofinwë. The young man took the box, letting his fingers brush against the girl's, as he had done so many times before, and Anairë's eyes lifted to meet his. For an instant Nolofinwë allowed himself to dream of the light in the blue eyes of the  _ nís _ ; but a slight noise behind him forced him to straighten up and utter a totally impersonal phrase. He almost bit his lip when he noticed Anairë's hurt look as she returned to her father. 

For a second, the young ignored the identity of who advanced to the stage; but when a melodious voice spoke his name, he turned in bewilderment to find himself facing a Maia. 

Eleniel was one of Varda Elentári's servants, and Nolofinwë had often seen her when his father sent him to the court of Ingwë Ingweron to study Vanyarin customs.

The maia climbed the steps and stopped just a few steps from the prince to present him with the Star Lady’s gift. There was a movement of surprise among the attendees: it was not uncommon for the Valar to bother sending presents to the coming-of-age Eldar - not even the princes. However, everyone knew that the most powerful of the Valier held the second son of their king in high esteem.

Nolofinwë expressed his thanks and opened the gold box. Light welled up inside, bathing the face and clothes of the elf, who reverently took the jewel. More than a star, it looked like a flower with thin petals like blades, and holding it between his fingers, Nolofinwë Arakáno Finwion saw himself sporting it on his chest, riding through a field ravaged by fire and death, wielding a curved blade blade so long as his arm, defiant ... running to death ... to oblivion.

The vision disappeared and Nolofinwë blinked, stunned.

“Tell our lady Varda Elentári that I will always use it,” he stated firmly and with an unusual feeling, added: “Until my fëa leaves Arda.”

A slight exclamation welcomed his words, as few among the Eldar had left the world to go to the Timeless Halls and it was unexpected to hear such a promise from a prince who had just come of age.

Before the impression passed, Finwë got up and announced that they would continue with the celebration, going to the banquet. The king offered his arm to his wife and stepped forward to kiss his second son on the forehead. Nolofinwë started to walk behind the royal couple, with a majestic step ... until he felt a hand around his elbow.

"Congratulations, little brother," Curufinwë murmured almost in his ear. “Father has arranged for us to have a private ceremony later. Only those closest to the family.”

“Seriously?” the younger pretended to be surprised, without losing his composure. “Did you agree to that? And I was here, believing that you would love to humiliate me in front of everyone.”

“Humiliate you, dear? Becoming the Crown Prince's  _ quendil _ is an honor and a privilege.”

“When it is by free choice ... Your Highness. By the way, shouldn't you give me a gift? It is my anniversary, after all.”

“Do you want me to give you your gift here? In front of everyone?” Nolofinwë saw his half-brother's mischievous smile from the corner of his eye. “I was saving it for a more intimate moment. You still don't wear any of the jewelry I've sent you. You can no longer say that they do not match your outfits.”

"No," the younger elf admitted dryly as they entered the dining room.


	9. Chapter 9

Nolofinwë ran his forefinger over the cuff that marked him as Curufinwë Finwion’s  _ quendil _ . A copper band encircling his left wrist for life - or until his  _ heru _ released him - and in the middle of it, Curufinwë's eight-pointed star. Surrounded by tiny pearls. The idiot of his half-brother could not help behaving like ... the bastard he was. On Fëanáro's wrist was a matching bracelet, only forged in gold and with the star made of rubies. And without pearls, of course.

The young elf evoked the ceremony: oaths of allegiance exchanged - he vowing to follow and obey his  _ heru _ ; Curufinwë promising to protect and respect him as an equal… of course! - and almost one hundred witnesses chosen from among the noblest families of the Noldor, including the Vanyarin ambassador and the Telerin one ... and Eleniel, the representative of the queen of the Valar, who had witnessed the ceremony with interest, although she did not show whether they seemed unusual to her the blood ties between the celebrants. Nolofinwë sensed his mother's anger all the time and nearly burst out laughing when his father breathed a sigh of relief after he made his vows.

When the guests left - probably eager to start debating the matter - Curufinwë had approached his father and asked him to discuss something about a project he had in Formenos. Nolofinwë then allowed himself to breathe and as soon as they disappeared into the king's study, he retired to his chambers.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking, for a long time. He had undressed and was now wearing only loose pants and a shirt whose ties remained untied. He had also unbraided his hair and the curls fell over his back like a black silk cloak, until he touched his hips. Perhaps Curufinwë would not come to claim his body after all. Perhaps he just wanted to humiliate him in front of everyone, knowing that within ten days all Tirion - possibly all Aman - would know that Curufinwë Fëanáro had chosen his half-brother as  _ quendil _ .

  
  


He stood up with a fluid movement and went to the desk on which the jewels presented by his half-brother remained. His fingers rummaged through the pile of pieces, finally stopping at the necklace that must have cost Curufinwë so much work -or maybe not. An unexpected emptiness flickered in his stomach: had public humiliation satisfied Curufinwë's appetite? He really wouldn't come to claim his body as advertised, would he?

He held the necklace in front of his eyes.

“Put it on.”

He turned halfway to discover Fëanáro leaning against the open door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching him. Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow, ready to say something sarcastic; but the other insisted, in a flat tone:

“Put it on. Undress and put on the necklace. I want to see it on your bare skin.”

“I'm not a female from the Wildlands for …”

"You swore to obey me, Nolofinwë," he reminded him curtly as he closed the door and took a few steps in his direction.

The young man clenched his jaw, furious. Furious at the jerk in front of him, at his father for allowing this to happen ... and at himself for the shudder that ran through his body to focus on his crotch. With all the dignity he was capable of, he ran the shirt over his head, tossing it onto a chair, and shoved the pants down so they fell to his feet. He kicked the garment under the desk and opened the clasp on the necklace to put it on. Anger and humiliation made his fingers tremble and he couldn't close it.

Nolofinwë gasped as he felt the heat of Curufinwë's body and his hands on the nape of his neck, removing the necklace to close it himself. Grimacing, he dropped his hands to the sides of his body and raised his head proudly as his half-brother stepped back to appreciate the effect of the jewel on his naked body. Curufinwë's eyes raked over him, hungrily, and the young elf was surprised that he had never noticed before how much he resembled a panther.

"That's what I meant," Fëanáro declared, his voice thick with excitement.

  
  


Beautiful. All Fëanáro could think of was how beautiful the male in front of him was. Exquisitely handsome and masculine. Proud. In that martyr pose. As if he were offering himself for a sacrifice. With a nimble leap, he plunged his hands into the thick wavy mane and found Nolofinwë's mouth with his. The other gasped, surprised, letting Fëanáro's tongue enter his warm cavity and for a moment, only accepted the invasion.

But Curufinwë's kiss was too much -too much for the tension he had been enduring for days, for the memory of the lust they once shared, for the need that had assailed him all those days ... With an almost furious growl, he nailed his fingers on his brother's sides and he responded to the strokes of his tongue with the same passion.

Fëanáro moaned, half-grateful, half-anxious, and forced him to walk toward the bed. He broke the kiss to push Nolofinwë onto the covers and let his mouth run down his arched neck, his alabaster shoulder, his firm chest, his taut belly… Yes, he was going to kiss him, and lick him, and bite everything. He was going to leave his mark on that silky skin. It was going to make him scream with pleasure and pain, all together, in an infinite spiral that bound them more than any ceremony. He had not stopped dreaming of this moment, when he finally had Nolofinwë in his arms, under him, submitted to his wishes, his ... his forever.

The younger elf moaned out loud as Curufinwë's mouth took his erection and ran over it with soft licks, enveloping and sucking, the purr of approval running all over his body. He fought the urge to ram into his throat, to ram until he released the hunger to haunt him to this day. His half-brother's muscular arms kept him on the bed, forcing him only to accept the pleasure that damn mouth gave him. He resisted wrapping his fingers in the hair that spilled over his thighs and belly: he pressed one hand to the coverlet and the other pressed to his mouth, biting his knuckles to stifle the moans that arched his body and hoarsened his throat. For a second, the air caressed his wet dick and he raised his head to meet Curufinwë's eyes, darkened with desire. Without looking away, the elder again licked the tip of the rigid member and ordered against his flesh:

“Cum now. In my mouth. I want to savor you, Nolvo.”

Panting, Nolofinwë watched his manhood disappear into Fëanáro’s mouth again, and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. The orgasm shook him like an earthquake and for a long time, he didn't even hear his own moans or Curufinwë's purring of approval as he devoured his semen as if it were the most precious of delicacies.

He remained with his eyes closed and his body possessed by a delicious languor, aware only of the caresses that ascended his torso. He was barely able to understand that he was savoring himself when Fëanáro's mouth found his in a sinuous and unnerving kiss.

“Delicious,” Fëanáro hissed at his skin, letting his lips parted to his ear. “You are sweet as wine, Nolvo.”

The words rekindled Nolofinwë's excitement. With a slight turn of the head, he found his brother's mouth and raised a hand to plunge it into the mass of straight hair.

Fëanáro allowed him to take control of the kiss and he enjoyed the passion of the youngest. Oh Valar! He knew how to kiss like no one else. The movements of that tongue in his mouth almost brought him to the brink of climax. Suddenly, Nolofinwë pulled away and placing small kisses on the corner of his mouth and the line of the jaw, he asked:

“Let me know your taste,  _ héranya _ . Let me …”

“Where the hell did you learn to be so deliciously submissive, damn kid?” Fëanáro roared, turning his hips against his half-brother's naked body.

Nolofinwë's sensual laugh caressed his throat and without waiting for his order, forced him to lie on his back to begin undressing him. Fëanáro allowed himself to be done, enjoying the exasperating slowness with which he unbuttoned each button of the robe. He only moved so that the garment came out of his arms and went to... the Valar knew where. Nolofinwë descended, planting kisses on his hypersensitive skin, and with sure fingers, he took off his shoes and went back for his pants.

Damn a thousand times. Blood roared in Fëanáro's ears as he gasped lightly for the delicate touches that found his body. He almost kicked to get rid of the pants and the laughter of the Vanyarin bastard caressed the inside of his thighs. Shit. If he continued to excite him like this, it would end as soon as he touched him with his mouth ... that pink and voluptuous mouth, that mouth that tasted of glory and was forbidden ... oh yes! Nolofinwë should be forbidden. The Valar should make an edict prohibiting the Eldar from giving life to such wonderful children ... so damn wonderful with those star eyes, and those jet curls, and that mother-of-pearl skin, and that ... oh Eru, that mouth! A throaty moan arched his chest as Nolofinwë licked everything from the base to the tip, not forgetting the testicles, venturing on the next lick to his sphincter ... and immediately the world disappeared. No, the world was reduced to the heat of the mouth that took him completely, devouring him, running through his dick; the tongue that pressed; the teeth that threatened sweetly… Damn brat! Fuck he was a virgin! He raised himself up on his elbows: he wanted to see the face of this adorable liar. Nolofinwë's gray eyes lifted to meet his and Fëanáro held his breath. There was no sight in the universe more beautiful than that. What had he said? That he wanted to disturb his father’s concubine? Lies. All he wanted was ... The stars exploded before his eyes, inside his head and his very soul slipped to the lips of the bastard Vanyarin.

Nolofinwë felt his excitement renew. His body was hard and tense, and hungry -hungry for the male next to him. He had to fight the urge to ascend to his mouth to devour the moans that the orgasm tore from his insides and he forced himself to kneel between his legs, savoring his essence. He thought he would feel disgusted or ... He didn't know what he had really thought, but it was delicious. His brother tasted delicious, intoxicating, a drug that drugged his soul as much as his body. He moved on his hands and knees to find Curufinwë's panting mouth and kiss him gently.

Fëanáro responded fiercely, grabbing him by the curls, pushing against him, catching his body with his legs, feeling the throbbing erection between his thighs.

"You are mine," he growled against his mouth, biting his lip. “Only mine, Nolofinwë. Mine forever.”

Breathing heavily, the younger one just nodded. For so long that it seemed like hours, they only kissed until they were sure that they were only breathing each other's breath. They parted, panting, their eyes clouded with passion.

Moving slowly, almost as if through the water, Fëanáro shifted his position, forcing his half-brother to lie on his back. Again he explored him all: first with the tips of his fingers, then with his palms wide open and finally with his lips, tongue, teeth ... Nolofinwë's slim and muscular body rocked under his painstaking study and deep groans erupted from his throat. Fëanáro's hands cautiously parted his lover's thighs and she lowered his head to lick the entrance.

Nolofinwë gasped, clenching his fists on the coverlet and forced himself to relax at the wet caresses. Time ceased to exist. The rising tide of pleasure was all he could absorb, and when a finger crawled inside him, he hardly reacted; however, it took him a moment to move to follow the soft thrusts. The finger multiplied by two and this time, a purr of discomfort and joy emerged from his throat.

Fëanáro watched his brother's reactions, fascinated. With his eyes closed, Nolvo let himself be carried away by the rhythmic swing, adjusting to the fingers that caressed him. The heat of his body sent streams of anxiety into Fëanáro's crotch. His half-open mouth was almost watering from the delicious appearance of that face in the mists of pleasure, from those trembling eyelashes, from the moans emitted by those wet lips ... Another finger and Nolofinwë arched, moaning so sweetly that Fëanáro's cock vibrated as if he had felt the sound himself. Still massaging inside his brother, he licked his free hand and stroked his member, spreading the previous fluids all over the shaft. Without taking his eyes off his half-brother's features, he pulled his hand away - a satisfied smile raised the corners of his mouth as Nolvo protested in a whisper - and positioned himself between the young elf's relaxed legs.

Nolofinwë tensed for a moment as he felt the thrust into his entrance. Curufinwë's mouth found his gently and as he seduced him with the games of his tongue, his brother's virility slowly invaded his body. His breath caught in his vocal cords and a silent scream erupted against Curufinwë's lips. He offered no resistance: as uncomfortable as it was, and painful, the sensation of the hard length filling him, tightening him beyond imagining, was - simply -  _ delicious _ . His body and skin responded to possession as they never did to the contact of a female and he finally understood that this was what he was born to do,  _ to fit perfectly with Curufinwë Finwion _ . Only the ecstasy closing his throat prevented him from moaning a confession of love with all the euphoria of a beginner and with gasps, he followed the cadence of the thrusts inside him, wrapping his legs around Fëanáro’s hips.

Fëanáro wanted to scream. His body burned. His skin burned. His soul burned. Nolofinwë was the most wonderful thing in the world. His place was there, between his thighs, against his body, in his mouth… He adored him. He wanted -he wanted to drink the moans from that mouth, devour the light from those eyes, wrap himself in the warmth of that skin ... he wanted to stay there forever. And at the same time, he knew he couldn't take much more. The pleasure was like a tide, a storm ... and it filled him  _ more more  _ **_more_ ** ... He took his lover's erection with one hand and caressed it hard, at the same time as the bumps on his hips. Nolvo threw his head back, his mouth open in a moan that modulated - for the first time - his maternal name ... and the youngest's orgasm exploded generously in his hand, in the contracted abdomen as the walls of the sphincter flickered still around him. With one last thought, Fëanáro decided that he would take that wonderful cock inside him and return every ecstasy ring that would satiate his body with the exquisite seed of his brother ... and the world disappeared in a burst of lights. 

_ Deaf blind only able to feel the body around and under him nothing else. _

  
  


When Fëanáro came back to his senses, he was lying on the other male, his head resting on his chest, which rose and fell calmly. He shifted a little to check that Nolofinwë lay relaxed under his weight and when he tried to sit up, fingers gently squeezed his shoulder.

“No ...“ Nolofinwë muttered.

The older prince smiled and lay back down, enjoying the warmth of his  _ quendil _ ’s skin.


	10. Chapter 10

Nolofinwë returned the salute of the two nobles who passed him in the antechamber of the audience hall and opened the door with his own hand, dismissing with a slight gesture the swift gesture of the usher who hastened to serve him. As soon as he entered the room, all eyes turned to him, with good reason.

Years after he came of age, Nolofinwë Finwion remained one of the most beautiful creatures among all the Noldor -and in Aman, as could be judged by the glances that followed him as he approached the throne to greet his father. As usual, Nolofinwë dressed in blue and white, with delicate silver details embroidered on the V-neck of the tunic, which exposed the broad chest covered by the fine shirt and on which rested a necklace of silver and sapphires, whose pieces were stars. Of course, everyone present recognized the work of Fëanáro Serindion on the jewels worn by the second prince: the exquisite necklace, the elaborate earrings that outlined the curve of his ears with myriads of diamonds drawing the tengwar of the names of the two intertwined, the copper and pearl bracelet… It was said that under his elegant court clothes, Nolofinwë hid other gifts from his half brother, more intimate, less…  _ decorous. _

Time had thrown a veil over the scandal caused by the election of Curufinwë Finwion. At first there was quite a stir: some noble families openly expressed their discontent with the depravity that came with acknowledging incest publicly… ritually. Many assumed that it had just been a new tantrum from Fëanáro, to humiliate his adoptive family. However, the years had passed without the pearl bracelet leaving Nolofinwë's wrist -or the ruby bracelet leaving Fëanáro's. The lords whispered that the servants commented that when the crown prince was in the palace, moans of passion and staccato curses echoed throughout the building, undeniable proof that  **it was not a tantrum** . No, it was definitely not a tantrum. The degradation was tangible… and enviable. Yes, that too: most of the court - without distinction of gender - envied one and the other, some with more dissimulation than others. Some more sadly than others.

  
  


Laurefindë watched the second prince. Since his father left more than a year ago to the court of King Ingwë, the young elf had occupied his seat on the Council and every day he had to deal with the dissimilar emotions that being close to Nolofinwë caused him. 

He  _ wanted _ the prince. He wanted him no matter that sometimes the high collar of Nolofinwë’s robe failed to hide the marks of Fëanáro's mouth. Or that there were days when only he noticed that Nolofinwë was struggling to keep his eyes open. Or that he came to the meetings with his lips still swollen and red from the kisses that some servants witnessed behind the columns of the atrium. 

Laurefindë had thought at first that Fëanáro just wanted to keep everyone away from his half-brother: perhaps the older brother instinct had finally awakened in him. However, after the first months following the ceremony - which he himself testified in disbelief - Laurefindë understood that the royal heir's passion for his half-brother was very true. As much as the one he felt himself.

  
  


Nolofinwë bowed to the king and climbed the steps to stand beside him. As the Council resumed and the applicants continued to come to present their requests to the lords, Finwë signaled to his second son. The prince got close enough to hear his words without anyone else doing it.

"Fëanáro came to see me this morning," the king commented confidentially.

“Did he, father? What did our brother Curufinwë want?”

  
  


Finwë was tempted to smile at his second son's formal tone. Nolofinwë had come to be one of the best players on the board of politics and his skill also extended to masking the true nature of his relationship with his older brother. Finwë, for his part, pretended to ignore the fire that connected the two when their gazes met carelessly in front of the others, or the loud moans that echoed in the corridors when Fëanáro spent the night in the palace, or the inevitable possessiveness that strained his eldest son’s shoulders when someone was around his  _ quendil _ .

"He's worried about your future," he reported, hiding his amusement. “Fëanáro thinks that it is time for you to take a wife.”

“Ah. I see.”

This time, the Noldorin king hesitated at some restraint in his second son's tone. Perhaps, Nolofinwë was not satisfied with the turn of the situation. Perhaps he thought this was Fëanáro's way of pushing him away.

“He offered to make the engagement rings, although he also thinks that you and Anairë do not need a long courtship.”

“Anairë?” Nolofinwë asked, always expressionless. “I see that the conversation progressed a lot in my absence. Have you by any chance already asked Councilor Súrion for his consent, father?”

“I'll do it this afternoon.” The smile froze on his lips as he looked up at his son. “If you agree with the choice. Maybe there is another  _ nís _ that …”

“I agree, _ aranya _ ,” Nolofinwë declared, not letting him finish. “Anairë Surioniel and I understand each other well. If she agrees to… accept me as… I am, I will be honored to become her husband.”

Finwë blinked, confused:  _ honored? _ The one who must have been  _ honored _ was that little girl. His two sons had chosen her. His two wonderful children - who belonged to each other and only deserved each other - had chosen her to be part of the royal family. Nerdanel had given him beautiful grandchildren; now it only remained to hope that Anairë would live up to the honor they bestowed upon her.

  
  


_____________________________

  
  


Nerdanel watched her husband work. As always when he was on a task, Fëanáro frowned and bit his lower lip as his hands shaped a new work. 

She approached him with a silent step, delighting in the rippling of the muscles in Fëanáro’s shoulders and neck, in the way his hair clung to his sweaty skin ... Nerdanel remembered how similar her husband looked now to when he made love to her ... and she also remembered the last time they shared the bed. A slight ache sank into her chest. There was a time when Fëanáro often sought her out, despite the fact that their marriage already exceeded the years when couples sought more spiritual than physical connection; but since that madness of taking his half-brother as  _ quendil  _ had occurred… Fëanáro traveled to Tirion more frequently than before and often spent more than a day there, not only seeking the proximity of his father, as Nerdanel well knew. The jewels for Nolofinwë emerged from Fëanáro's hands like flowers on Vána’s passing, and the female knew that he was not content with giving them as gifts. She imagined that Nolofinwë - that marvelous male with star eyes and ebony hair - would then wear them on his naked body, delighting her husband's sight and igniting a passion that she was not sure she had ever enjoyed. She remembered Maitimo's coming-of-age party and she had no doubt that already on that day, Fëanáro had seduced his half-brother… Or perhaps that had been the day that Nolofinwë seduced the most powerful of the Noldor.

She stopped next to her husband and surprise made her gasp. Engagement rings. Fëanáro forged a pair of silver rings.

“Is one of our children getting married and am I the last to know?” She asked, puzzled.

Fëanáro laughed, still working.

“I doubt such a thing would be possible. Our children are not able to hide anything from you.”

“A commission then?”

“A gift, actually.”

“Írien is not of marriageable age yet,” Nerdanel pointed out, thinking of the only member of her husband's family who could be bound: Arafinwë was a teenager, Findis had been married long ago and Nolvo …

“They are not for Írien, but for Nolofinwë.”

For a second, Nerdanel held his breath. She almost offered a prayer of thanks to the Valar for putting the light on her husband's head.

“Anairë?” She ventured, with an effort.

“I think. At least, that's what father and I talk about.”

“You both?” She frowned. “Were you the ones who decided about the engagement?”

“Not quite. I only let my father know that I approved of Nolofinwë's marriage to the daughter of Súrion.”

Of course. Fëanáro was the  _ heru _ of Nolofinwë: if he did not allow it, his brother could not marry. However, the fact that Fëanáro was supporting that marriage could only mean one thing. Fëanáro was not much given to sharing.

"Sounds like a good choice to me," she nodded. “The two have known each other since childhood and get along well. Once Nolofinwë was interested in her, so it will be easy for them to build a relationship from that.”

“Do you believe so?” An unexpected emotion twitched Fëanáro's lips.

“Of course. Building a stable and firm marriage with Anairë will be the best way for him to overcome everything.”

“Overcome?” The word came out of the Noldo's mouth like a roar. “Overcome  **what** ?”

“The attraction between you two, Fëanáro,” she explained logically. “It’s evident that Nolofinwë is in love with you. The way he has accepted everything and the passion you have taught him have shaped him in a way that will serve him well for the future. He loves you and will need someone like Anairë - balanced, discreet, tender… - to overcome the separation.”

"There will be no separation," he declared hoarsely and Nerdanel looked up to find that her husband had paled to match Telperion's light. “I am not ending my bond with Nolofinwë. I will never finish it, Nerdanel. In fact, I am building a forge in my father's palace. I will move there after Nolvo's wedding.”

“But… but… You said he is getting married. How do you think he will move on if you're even hanging around it ...?”

“He's not going to move on! Not without me!”

Nerdanel recoiled as she put a hand to her chest, bewildered by his outburst. Not without him. In other words, Fëanáro planned to maintain the relationship, regardless of whether his brother married, had children ... 

_ ‘He will not move on.’ _ Neither him. He wasn't going to move on either.

“When were you going to tell me that we… are moving?” she ventured, suddenly realizing that she was not included in the move.

“I had thought that Nolvo should spend a few days in Alqualondë with his wife. Like my father did when… ” He went back to concentrating on the rings, ignoring his wife's expression. “Just a few days, of course. My father needs him on the Council. Meanwhile, I was going to move. Nelyo and Cáno are already in court, so only the rooms for the others have to be prepared.”

“Are you planning to take my children?” This time, Nerdanel could not contain herself.

Fëanáro looked up at her face.

“You can come with us, Nerdanel.”

“To the castle? To the castle where will you live near your lover? Your lover who is also your brother? Do you want me to hear how you make love to him? You want to make me a laughingstock as Tirion? I am your wife, Fëanáro; your mate. You can't ask me to accept your lust as if it were ... as if it were natural …”

“It's not lust.” He shook his head. “Nolofinwë is my  _ quendil _ . We're mates. It's ... it's like a marriage, Nerdanel. More…”

“Will your  _ quendil  _ give you children?” She burst out, her eyes bright with anger. “What do you think will happen when Nolofinwë marries and follows the path he had chosen before your intervention? Do you think he will continue to follow you like a hound? Do you think he will choose you over his wife and children?”

"He has no choice," he stated firmly, turning the rings between his fingers. “A  _ quendil _ always obeys his  _ heru _ , and Nolvo will not break his word.”

“And that makes you happy? Bond him to you for a vote? Break with everything sacred in your life on a whim?”

“Nerdanel,” he approached to put a hand on her cheek, “it is not a whim. Nolofinwë is -he is precious to me. To my heart. Isn't it what you always wanted? What everyone wanted?”

“Not like this, Fëanáro. Years have passed. It's too long for a whim. I thought -I thought that you were finally returning to sanity, realizing that what you did did not ... You must free Nolofinwë from that vow. For everyone’s sake.”

Fëanáro put the rings in a small velvet pouch and headed for the door. As he passed Nerdanel, he stopped to stroke her hair; but the she-elf was not deceived: that is how he would have touched a dog or a horse.

“Not for mine’s, Nerdanel. Never for my sake.”


	11. Chapter 11

Nolofinwë looked up from the scroll to look at his nephews. Nelyo sat across from him and handed him a glass of wine. Behind him, Moryo and Turco wore worrying smiles, and Canafinwë wielded his harp, ready to play.

"Don't you dare," he warned through clenched teeth.

“It's a time of celebration, uncle,” Nelyo pointed out. “You are going to get married. In a few weeks from what I heard.”

“Of course not. I haven't even talked to Anairë yet.”

“Our grandfather already spoke with Súrion. The counselor is excited to become your father-in-law.” He made a sign to his brothers. “And we want to be the first to congratulate you.”

"It is our duty," Moryo pointed out, raising his glass of wine.

"It's our right," said Turco, imitating him.

“And I already composed a song,” Cano intervened. “You have to listen to it.”

“All right. Sing it at the wedding, when Anairë can hear it too. Now, let me work.”

"You don't seem very happy for a future husband," Moryo pursed his mouth.

"Maybe you want another girlfriend," Turcafinwë shrugged, sitting down.

Nolofinwë fixed his gaze on the wine glass and took it with a quick gesture. He raised it to his forehead and downed it in one go.

“There is. A toast to my future marriage. If my wife doesn't think it is shameful to marry another  _ ner _ 's lover.”

“Is that what worries you?” Cáno raised his eyebrows. “Do you think Anairë will not love you because of your relationship with our father? Being a  _ quendil _ is not a disgrace, uncle.”

“Isn't being  **your brother's** **_quendil_ ** **,** Makalaurë?”

"When you put it like that ..." Turcafinwë pouted. “But he is still the Crown Prince, and you are also a prince, and she would be a princess, and her children would all be princes …”

"And shut up, Tyelkormo," Moryo hit him on the shoulder from behind Nelyo.

For his part, Fëanáro's eldest son had not stopped looking at his uncle. At last, he leaned forward a little further and said:

“Anairë loves you. She hasn’t stopped loving you in all these years. She never gave up hope that one day you would go for her. The proof is that she has not accepted anyone else in all these years. Anairë is a very intelligent  _ nís _ , uncle; she will not be bound by prejudice.”

“That! She would be very foolish if she did, 'Turcafinwë pointed out with his usual almost childlike honesty.

"And then she wouldn't be worthy of you or your concern," Cano intervened, his voice a stream of gold as his hand found his uncle's across the table.

Nolofinwë looked at his nephew, suddenly remembering that Fëanáro had once forbidden him to approach them. Once when he viewed his close relationship with his half-brother as torture.

“Did you only bring a glass of wine for each one?” He asked suddenly with a frown.

“Nope,” Moryo declared, pulling the bottle out of the folds of his cloak. “And since we are, could you hurry up to have children? I'm getting sick of looking at these idiots' faces.”

“I'll do my best.”

“And a daughter!” Turco yelled, straightening up in his seat. “We need a girl to teach us how to behave and Findis’s daughters are of no use to us. They are too …”

"Vanyarin," Nolofinwë agreed. “Like I said, I'll do the best I can.”

"Then she will surely be a gorgeous girl," Cano smiled happily. “And some very handsome boys.”

  
  


The afternoon was spent on jokes and glasses of wine. When the bottle was empty, Turcafinwë offered to find another one and after much arguing whether he could actually get to Aldarion's shop without getting lost, Morifinwë and Cáno decided to accompany him, while Nelyo and his uncle laughed out loud at the blond's attempts to walk without the help of his brothers.

"I don't think that if Anairë sees those three, she wants her children to be princes ever," Nelyo pursed his mouth.

“They aren’t that bad, after all. Isn't that what is expected of princes?” Nolofinwë smiled.

“My parents must have paid more attention to our upbringing. Curvo and the twins are going the same way.”

“Please, Russandol! The wine makes you speak like master Rúmil.”

The redhead looked at him with a frown and after a few minutes, said, in a serious tone:

“Promise me that when you have a child, you will give me the opportunity to be their tutor. If I'm not good enough, you won't hesitate to tell me; but I would like the opportunity to educate… a child. Or a kid as if they were.”

“You speak as if you were never going to get married and have your own children,” laughed the other. “You will be a wonderful tutor and you would be an exceptional father, Russo.”

“I'm not getting married, Nolo,” Maitimo suddenly declared firmly and his uncle noticed for the first time the solemnity of his tone. Russandol was being serious. “Not me.”

“I get it,” Nolofinwë nodded calmly. “My children will be your children then, Russo. I will be honored if you help me educate them.”

“Doesn't it bother you that I…?”

“How could such a thing bother me when I am the  _ quendil  _ of my own brother?” He smiled softly.

“Nolvo, I know you accepted just so as not to upset Grandpa, to keep that semblance of peace in our family. I know you don't… you don’t share my inclinations… or my father's relaxation about it… and I can only guess how difficult it was for you to adjust to being…  _ his lover. _ Also, it is difficult to see yourself in the passive role in a relationship: you are not like that.” When he saw that his uncle was about to speak, he held him back with a pleading gesture. “We have never discussed this, but it seemed crazy to all of us. However, you don't look upset or bitter and that made me think that you took on this relationship with my father -your brother -as another political matter. I know that he has not completely liberated you and perhaps that is what worries you about your bond with Anairë, that she does not accept that another male has more rights over you than she - or that you are no longer capable of accepting the domain of your  _ heru _ once you are with your beloved.”

Nolofinwë's mouth twisted into a grimace. It seemed like a good answer. It seemed like the correct answer. So he made a gesture that could pass for both denial and assent.

"It will be difficult for her to understand ..." he started to say.

"Love will overcome anything," Nelyo smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"Yes," agreed Nolofinwë with a slight smile. “I hope so.”


	12. Chapter 12

The rooms were silent. As expected, he thought with the part of his mind that wasn't spinning in waves of wine and liquor. How the hell did he allow Tyelkormo and Makalaurë to get away with mixing the two drinks? He was supposed to be an adult. Like Russo, who had drunk just a few fingers less than he. Of course, Russo had a firmer head and a less delicate stomach. Shameful: a royal prince unable to drink properly. Which applied to his other nephews. A laugh escaped his lips as he remembered Moryo trying to carry him to bed when he could barely take two straight steps. Ridiculous. They were terrible princes. The five of them. No, he wasn't going to include Russandol in their incompetence; but the others would not escape… so the four of them: Nolofinwë, Canafinwë, Turcafinwë and Morifinwë… Damn! There were many "finwë" in his family. That, without counting his brother’s younger children: Curufinwë - yes, like his father -, Pityafinwë and Telyafinwë ... and Arafinwë, his blond and Vanyarin brother. If one thing was clear, it was that he would not call any of his children with any "finwë" anywhere in their name. No more "finwës" in Finwë Noldoran’s family.

He burst out laughing as he tried to reach the bed without opening the windows. He didn't want to feel the light of Telperion right now. He didn't want any light for the next hundred years. He wanted to fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years. Or until all those "finwës" stopped spinning in his head in glasses of fruit liqueur and sweet wine. Turcafinwë-Tyelkormo had a terrible taste in drinks. Note to him: his precious blond nephew would not choose his wedding wine. Who the hell would Turco get those golden hair from? By all accounts, Míriel had silver hair -waves of Telperion's light falling to her ankles. A beautiful image, but nothing to do with Turco’s beauty. Nothing to do with the golden curls of the third son of Fëanáro. Nothing to do with the black silk cloak that was Fëanáro's hair falling down his bare back. Nothing to do with that sensual cascade of darkness framing his angular features, his eyes like mercury, his full lips …

Shit. He flopped down on the bed and brought one leg up to his hands to rip off his boot. He repeated the process with the other foot and crawled to settle between the pillows. Heat circulated through his body as he returned to the image of his half-brother's face. 

Love will overcome anything, Russandol had said; but he wasn't so sure about that. His love hadn't overcome many obstacles, honestly. His love hadn't really been of much use. His love for his father had failed to equate him in Finwë's heart with his firstborn. His love for his mother hadn't stopped her from being unhappy. His love for his half-brother hadn't made him love him like his own blood. His love for his other siblings had not made them feel less contempt by Curufinwë. His love…

He squeezed his lids together and brushed away the discomfort on his chest. Sleep. Sleep for the next hundred years. That was an idea that he loved.

  
  
  
  
  


The light on his face made him grunt and his lids tightened as he fumbled for a pillow to cover his eyes. As he did not reach any, he turned slightly on his side ... and fell from the bed with all his weight.

“By Manwë’s balls!” He shouted as he stood up with an effort, his head spinning.

“You're drunk.” The deep, strangely blank voice forced him to look around. “How much did you drink.”

“No idea,” he sat on the floor and with narrowed eyes, watched Fëanáro, illuminated by the brightness of Telperion.

“Quite a party then, huh?” Fëanáro raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “Did you buy all the wine or did your father-in-law buy it? Did your future wife also drink as much as you?”

“She probably drank some poison when they announced that she was going to marry me. Everything I drank was paid for by Tyelkormo, I think. I may have paid for something, but right now I don't remember.” He glanced sideways at the drawn curtains. “Couldn't you have left the curtains drawn?”

  
  


Fëanáro studied him with a piercing gaze. For everyone’s sake, Nerdanel had said. But she had no idea what she was saying. For everyone’s sake? Let everyone go to hell. He would never free Nolofinwë. He knew it was the right thing to do, just as his father had done with Olwë Telerian so many years ago; however, he was not his father. No one else would take anything that belonged to him. Never more.

"I came to bring you the rings," he announced, nodding at the bag on the desk.

Nolofinwë did not even follow the direction of his sign. His narrowed eyes continued to fix on his half-brother.

“How much efficiency,” he praised mockingly. “You seem to be eager for me to get married. I warn you that I want a beautiful gift wedding. A necklace, bracelets ... something spectacular.”

"I hadn't thought of that," the older admitted, looking away at the boots thrown in the corner, so unusual for his neat and tidy brother.

“You wouldn't think that a pair of rings would be the last gift I would receive from you, would you?”the youngest laughed, leaning back on his hands and shaking his head so that the unruly curls fell disorderly to the ground.

  
  


Fëanáro watched the gesture with growing weakness in his stomach. Before analyzing what Nolofinwë said, he leaped towards him and dropped onto his knees, spreading his  _ quendil _ ’s legs to get closer to his body. With both hands he grabbed his half-brother's face and lunged for his mouth violently.

Nolofinwë let out a groan and raised his hands to cling to his lover. He clenched one fist in Fëanáro's clothing and the other clenched at that cascade of black silk that fell at his shoulder. He responded to the kiss desperately, fighting for control, biting his lips, crashing his tongue against the other's in a voluptuous and unnerving fencing.

  
  


Nolofinwë tasted of wine and liquor. And he smelled like glory. Fëanáro lost himself in the taste and smell of his  _ quendil _ . He loved this: the way Nolvo leaped to meet him, like a beast ready to fight; the way he felt passion swirl and grow in his veins and in his body until there was nothing else… nothing but Nolvo against his skin and his soul.

  
  


It was the younger elf who began to undress his companion, with clumsy and feverish movements, cursing between kisses as his fingers tangled in the ties of his shirt. Impatient, he pulled to rip the piece and bare Fëanáro's chest. With a triumphant moan, he released himself from the kiss to descend toward the firm pecs down the arched spine of his throat. He licked and nibbled at the brown skin, rapt at the familiar taste of his brother and lord.

Fëanáro tipped his head back, not taking his fingers out of the grip on the rich ebony curls. He gasped and cursed as Nolofinwë's mouth found a nipple and he lingered, taking desire on a higher scale. He dropped forward, pushing the other to the ground and held onto one hand to keep from stopping the exciting play on his body. Nolvo's thighs closed against his, drawing him closer to the throbbing erection the silk hose restrained. Oh yes. That. The two burning in unison. The two burning in the same fire… in the same sin… for all eternity.

  
  


Nolofinwë felt the touch in his mind, in his soul… and almost sobbed in gratitude. Continuing to kiss and caress his half-brother's chest, he slid his hands up to his belt. After a moment and fighting the awkwardness of his trembling fingers, he managed to free Fëanáro's erection and ran a slow caress over it, anticipating every glorious inch inside him.

  
  


Nolvo's hands urged Fëanáro to move, to leave between his thighs and straddle his chest. Now fully lying on the ground, Nolofinwë led him to his mouth and took it all, relaxing his throat, moving slowly so that his tongue and teeth caressed every millimeter of silky stiffness. A shudder shook the crown prince as he leaned forward to lean on his hands above his lover's head. He felt the orgasm sway to its limit, thrust into the luscious cavity and had to strain not to finish so soon. Too soon, he told himself; he wanted more ... and Nolvo knew how to disarm him in a few minutes. He couldn't allow it. He… he was the one controlling… damn him!

He jumped away, lying on the ground so that the coldness of the flagstones chilled his body for a few seconds. Immediately, Nolofinwë was on him like a hungry beast, kissing the line of the jaw and stroking his torso without reaching the cock.

  
  


“Are you running from me, Fëanáro?” He challenged and the older felt the smile against his skin.

“You make me lose control,” he confessed in a thick voice as his hands searched for the youngest's clothes and pulled to undress him.

“Good.” A kiss found his mouth. “Then I’ll help you find your control back.”

"Alcohol makes you funny,  _ Nolofinwënya _ ," Fëanáro chuckled when he finally ripped off the tunic and hugged the naked torso. "I love it when you do that," he commented upon feeling the chill that shook the other. "And that too," he added as Nolvo's tongue explored his ear and played with the gold and emerald hoop.

"And I when you do that," the minor confessed in a groan once his lover untied the ties of the leggings and pushed them by his hips. “Oh! And that… yes.  _ That _ .”

Fëanáro's hands caressed his partner's cock mercilessly, pushing him to the limit of his endurance. Nolofinwë moved to the rhythm of the rough caresses, turning his hips. Still touching him, Fëanáro kicked off his boots and struggled with his pants. Noticing his plight, the other elf helped him and when they were naked, they embraced passionately, rubbing against each other, kissing frantically, caressing each other with every inch of skin, as if they wanted to imprint themselves on their companion's body forever.

  
  


Fëanáro slid down his lover's body and took the stiff cock in his mouth, licking and sucking… until Nolvo's body arched and the first signs of pleasure gushed out. Determinedly, biting his lower lip in anticipation, Curufinwë pulled away and took the moisture on his fingers.

Nolofinwë lay on his back, his eyes closed, almost protesting at the abandonment. He opened his eyes and saw his brother straddling his hips. He saw the hand travel from his mouth to the inside of his thighs… and his heart stopped in his chest. Eyes bright with excitement and desire, he watched Fëanáro as he positioned himself over him and descended to take him inside. Pleasure hit the elf physically, cutting off his breath and bending him like an arc toward the impossible warmth that embraced him.

Fëanáro remained motionless for a few seconds. It had been years since he was taken by someone. Throughout his relationship with Nolofinwë it had always been he who possessed; but he could no longer control the urge to belong to his lover to the same degree that he possessed him. The sensation was as uncomfortable as it was delicious and for an instant, he just thought that if he moved an inch, he would explode hopelessly. Nolofinwë was magnificently gifted and suddenly, Fëanáro felt envy of Anairë, who would always have him inside her, as an indispensable part of life. If only she would be able to appreciate the wonderful privilege she was receiving by sharing his  _ quendil _ .  _ His perfect and adored quendil. _ He moved slowly, up and down in exquisite torture, and looked down at Nolofinwë. His heart soared: his brother's eyes shone like stars, fixed on him.

Nolofinwë held the body of his brother and lover by his hips, surrendering to the rhythm of his dance. It was brutal and wonderful, all in one, and Nolvo knew that possessing was the same as being possessed… as long as Fëanáro was the other part of that perfect equation. Fëanáro's cock vibrated against his abdomen, as if claiming him, and obediently, he wrapped one hand around it and caressed in the cadence of their bodies. He watched pleasure grow on his lover's rapt features and ecstasy swirled through his body, rising to his head, down to his testicles.

Fëanáro arched back a second and ejaculation exploded on his brother's hand and torso. Immediately, he leaned forward to meet his mouth in a hungry kiss and let Nolofinwë take alone the last few thrusts before generously filling him with his seed. For a moment they did not move - their tongues tangled, their bodies fit perfectly, semen sliding into Nolvo's trembling belly, Fëanáro's sphincter pulsing against the hardness that remained filling him - and the world ceased to exist for both of them.

  
  


It must have been hours before Fëanáro moved, sliding to settle next to his brother and pulling him so that they were against each other. Nolofinwë’s hand closed on his hair, massaging his scalp in languid movements.

“My last gift?” the older asked suddenly against Nolofinwë's neck.

“It is not?” Instead of answering, he asked the question without moving to meet his brother's gaze.

Fëanáro did not respond directly either.

“Nerdanel thinks that your marriage will not have a chance if I continue ... with this.”

  
  


Nerdanel. Her sister-in-law's name ran down Nolofinwë's spine almost painfully to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“Was it Nerdanel who proposed that you approve my marriage?” he inquired again.

“No. I was the one who told Father. You said the other day that you would like to have children. The only way to get children is by getting married.”

“No, it is not,” the younger replied, finally moving away from his embrace to sit down and look for his tunic. “But it is definitely the only way to get a wife.”

He put on the garment and stood up. Fëanáro raised himself on his elbows to follow him with his eyes as he went to the desk and extracted the rings from the velvet pouch.

"Precious, as always," Nolofinwë praised; but his voice did not express admiration or enthusiasm. “You shouldn't have bothered. I could have ordered the rings from any goldsmith in town.”

“I'm the best and you know it.” He stood up with a nimble movement and began to dress. “I'm sure Anairë will like them.”

“As much as Nerdanel might like something done by me, no doubt.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned as he turned in front of him with his pants half closed. For a second, his gaze wandered over the exposed body of his  _ quendil _ for Nolofinwë had left his tunic open and was half sitting on the table, revealing his magnificent nakedness.

“Before you chose me, Anairë and I had talked about getting married. Your decision made our relationship die. Do you think she has any appreciation for you?” he shrugged. “Or for me?”

“I hadn't seen it from that point,” Fëanáro admitted after a few minutes. “I chose Anairë because I know you were interested in her before. Maybe I should have asked you earlier.”

“Oh yeah, you should have!” laughed his brother and the crown prince was surprised that Nolvo's always clear laugh was now bitter. “You should have consulted me before deciding that I should marry,  _ with whom _ I should marry,  _ when _ I should marry ... But what nonsense am I saying? Why should you ask a _ sex toy _ for its opinion?” His gray eyes (as gray as his father's) stared into his half-brother's face almost painfully. “Isn't that what I am? What have I been all these years?  _ Your sex toy _ . A pet that you adorn with jewelry and trinkets, and that you display in front of others. And when you get fed up with me, you throw me into other arms. In fact, it just amazes me that you decided to marry me. I always thought that when you got bored with me, you would pass me on to one of your children.”

Fëanáro's face clouded. He felt the rage of Nolofinwë as he had not felt it in years. Since that day in the market.

“Would you have preferred that way?” he hissed through his teeth, fighting a feeling. Perhaps, he had misinterpreted his half brother's acceptance. Maybe he did feel something ... for one of his sons. Fëanáro knew that Cáno had been in love with him… that he still was; but he never wondered if Nolofinwë …

"I would have liked to have a choice," replied the younger with bright eyes.

  
  


Fëanáro felt his chest clench.

A choice. He never had that option. Nolofinwë accepted the bond because their father said so, to keep the peace between them. Hadn't he seen him with Laurefindë? Hadn't he seen him come out of Cáno's bedroom? None of those memories had been erased from his mind in all those years. 

A choice. For everyone’s sake. Nerdanel's words returned. He didn't care about everyone; but Nolvo ... For  **Nolvo's** sake, he …

He slipped on his boots without speaking and headed for the door.

“I'll send you those bracelets you asked for,” he announced without turning to look at him. If he looked at it ... “I'll also make the gold rings for the marriage. Atar thinks that a trip to Alqualondë would be good for you to start life together. Maybe later you should take your wife to Valmar, so she can meet the other part of your family.”

“Are you ordering me?” Nolofinwë narrowed his eyes.

"No," for the first time, Fëanáro Þerindion's voice was soft, almost… tender. “I am  _ suggesting _ it to you. I will never order you again, Nolofinwë.”

And slowly, he raised his hands in front of his chest. When he dropped them, the other could see that his left wrist was bare and that he was holding the gold and ruby bracelet with his right hand.

  
  


For a moment the world disappeared before the eyes of Nolofinwë Finwion. He stopped seeing the room, the light of Telperion… all he saw was Fëanáro's back, moving away… away from him. He wanted to scream, run after him, grab him and force him to face him to demand an explanation; but the only thing that kept him standing were his hands gripping the edge of the table.

Free. he was free to choose ... and that was bullshit. When he managed to breathe again, his brother had disappeared and Nolofinwë collapsed on his knees, his face buried in his hands. 

Russandol was a liar: love did not overcome everything.


	13. Chapter 13

The wedding of the second son of the Noldorin king was quite an event. The party lasted for days, even after the bride and groom left on their wedding trip to Alqualondë.

Nerdanel was one of the people who most happily watched the departure of the newlyweds. Months ago she had seen her husband arrive without the bracelet on his wrist and she understood that finally - finally! - he had come to hIS senses. Of course, the forge that Fëanáro built in hIS father's palace was left unfinished, much to Finwë's disappointment.

  
  


Anairë gazed excitedly at her wedding night dress. Nolofinwë had suggested that they wait until they were in Alqualondë to perform the intimate rites of marriage and she had nodded obediently. She could wait a little longer. She had waited for years for Fëanáro to lose interest in his brother. She would have waited her entire life for the man who was now her husband. In a little while, during the second blending of the lights, she and Nolofinwë would establish the bonds that would last forever, binding their souls and bodies.

The young woman was nervous and anxious. Like everyone in Tirion she had heard the rumors. The servants always talked, and the comments about the private jewels that Prince Curufinwë gifted to his _quendil_ had been the subject of fantasies among most of Tirion's elves of both genders. There was talk of gold chains as fine as spider webs encircling the young elf's hips, rings and gems adorning the pierced nipples, pearl nets covering the sex, objects of the most exquisite craftsmanship - and similar to reality - made to fill the _quendil’s body_... there was even talk of a piece of gold and rubies adorning the penis of the king's second son. Curiosity tensed the bride's body.

She had loved Nolofinwë Finwion since they had met as children. From the first moment, she knew that she would only be happy if those star eyes looked at her with affection. When she learned that Curufinwë Finwion had chosen his own brother as his _quendil_ , the world opened up at her feet. She thought that she would never smile again because how could she feel bliss again if Nolofinwë would not be hers? For a time, she tried to experience disgust or contempt for both of them; but she soon realized that all she felt was longing and envy. Years passed without Nolofinwë showing her at least a glimmer of what they once shared and she convinced herself that he was doing it out of respect for his _heru_ . The male who dishonored his _heru,_ dishonored his family. And one day Súrion announced over dinner that the king had requested his daughter's hand for the second prince. In the beginning, her mother had objected, shouting that her only daughter would not become the wife of such a depraved, the Valar knew what perversions those two would teach her! Súrion ordered her to be silent and before the discussion reached any further terms, she herself intervened. 

'I am going to marry Nolofinwë,’ she had said. ‘I don't care if I have to share him with his brother, with his father ... if I have to sleep with them too ... Everything is fine in exchange for being the wife of the ner I love.’

And that was it. And she had meant it: anything was fine to have a part of Nolofinwë Finwion.

  
  


The elf's entry into the chamber interrupted the female's thoughts. Smiling, she turned around and looked at him. Nolofinwë was beautiful. Beside him, Anairë felt like a pebble next to a priceless sapphire, next to a star.

From the moment of the wedding, Nolofinwë wore his hair braided, without any adornment to interrupt the obsidian beauty. Nor did he wear earrings and in his hands, he only wore the gold ring that replaced the silver one and ... the bracelet. The bracelet that marked him as tied to another male, as a warning to everyone ... _to her_.

Anairë almost felt the tears come to her eyes; but with an effort, she drew on years of living at court and widening the smile that curved her lips, poured two glasses of wine to offer one to her husband.

…………………………………..

Nerdanel woke up alone, as so many times in recent years. For an instant, the possibility that Fëanáro had gone looking for Nolofinwë drove her heart to her throat; but later she remembered that the second prince had left for Alqualondë the day before. Breathing again, she left the bed and wrapped herself in a robe, sure where to find her husband.

As expected, Fëanáro was in the forge. Flames lit up his muscular, sweaty torso, and Nerdanel shuddered with desire. Despite having ended his relationship with Nolofinwë, Fëanáro had not returned to her; however, she did not lose hope. There was an unbreakable bond between them, an eternal bond like the light of the Trees and her husband would return to her body, to her warmth, to her love.

Recalling the early days of their marriage, she went to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't leave me alone in bed," she commented,smiling. “I could freeze.”

“Light the fireplace. Although it is not cold at this time of year.”

  
  


Nerdanel almost recoiled at the cutting tone. However, she leaned closer to her husband's back and placed a soft kiss on his sweaty skin.

  
  


“It's your heat that I miss.” She wrapped her arms around the firm torso and pressed to force him to turn around. “Come with me.”

"I'm working," he replied and made a movement to disengage from her embrace… like someone pushing a dog.

Nerdanel gritted her teeth; but this time she didn't give in either.

“Work will be there later. Come to bed with me, my love. Please? All that wedding and romance atmosphere has awakened more than just the urge to drink in me. Don't you want to find out what else has it made me feel?”

“No!”

Fëanáro freed himself so roughly that the she-elf stumbled and if it hadn't been for the table she collided with, she would have fallen to the ground. He did not turn to look at her: pressing the hammer in his right hand, he paced the room, desperate.

“Fëanáro …”

“You said he was in love with me!” He roared suddenly, facing her. “You said it was obvious that he loved me! You lied, Nerdanel! He didn't love me. He chose her. He chose her over me. He's with her now! You said it was the right thing to do to let him go. You said it was for the best. You said… ” He looked at her with eyes blazing with rage. “How can it be the right thing to do if it hurts so bad? How can it be for the best if I can't breathe? If I’m going crazy thinking he's with that damn woman? If my heart is torn every time I imagine how he takes her in his arms, how he kisses her, how he caresses her ... how he claims her body and fills her with his? She has no right to that. No one has it!”, he exploded, throwing the hammer against the wall. “He's mine! Only I have the right to his kisses, his caresses, his mouth on my body, his body …”

He put his hands to his head, digging his fingers into the mass of loose hair and arched back, roaring in despair.

Nerdanel watched him, horrified, finally realizing that her husband would never return to her.

"You lied to me," Fëanáro repeated, his voice cracking with bitterness. “You said he loved me. And now he is no more with me.”

“Fëanáro, Nolofinwë is your brother,” she reminded him desperately. “That madness could not continue …”

“Madness? Madness is pretending I don't want him with me! Madness is living without him. Madness is not having gone to that damn wedding and having ripped him from that thief to take him back in my body, in my mouth and remind him that he is mine. Madness was listening to you, damn woman!”

-”Atar!”

Nelyo's scream froze his father as he took a step toward Nerdanel. Fëanáro's eyes flicked to the forge gate to see his two eldest sons. With an effort, he spun around and ordered:

“Take her out of here, Nelyo. Take your mother out of here.”

Both young men rushed in; however, it was Canafinwë who took his mother in his arms and pulled her towards the door while the redhead went to his father and stopped behind him, without touching him. On the threshold, Nerdanel half let go of her son to look in the direction of her husband.

“I'm leaving this house, Fëanáro,”she said. “I endured your madness for years because I thought that one day you would be the elf I loved again; but you've lost yourself in your lust. You're not even able to see that you were never who lead in that relationship.”

“For me you can go to the Outer Lands!” he riposted, contained only by the body of his eldest son. “I could never touch you again, Nerdanel. Not after him.”

Pain welled up on the female's features. She was proving that she had never had her husband's heart; not like his half-brother had.

“May the Valar have compassion on you because that passion will destroy you, Curufinwë Fëanáro.”

Canafinwë led her out.

Nelyafinwë turned in front of his father and stared at him. Under the penetrating gaze of his firstborn, Fëanáro finally collapsed and let the tears of helplessness and pain flow out of his eyes. His son hugged him tightly.

"He will be back," he assured him. “Nolvo will come back to you, atto.”

“No, he will not. I gave him a choice ... and he took it. He chose,” he sobbed, digging his fingers into his son's body.


End file.
